Harry Potter, et al, and the Keystone Council
by OlegGunnarsson
Summary: All his life, Harry Potter had heard voices inside his head. He never expected to learn that the voices were his own. Five different Harry Potters, from five different worlds, must work together to survive life, school, and the second war.
1. Prologue - Keystone Manor

Harry Potter found himself standing at a tall, iron gate. The vines growing among the bars spoke of the years it had been since that gate stood open to visitors, and also told him what he already knew. Unlike old Potter Manor, this place had had no house elves waiting for his return.

For the return of Lord Potter.

He walked slowly to the gate, seeing the proud crest of the Potter family worked into the metal. _Here goes nothing,_ he thought. Placing his hand against the crest, he saw the Potter ring glow briefly. Without prompting, the words came to his mind.

"I stand at the center of all things. Grant me the strength to hold my burdens."

The crest glowed to match his ring, and then parted as the gate opened. Despite appearances, Harry heard no whine of fatigued metal, no grinding of rusted hinges. He took a step forward.

Before him was a hilltop, covered in tall grass. There were no trees on the hill, though Harry thought he could see several large trees beyond. The grounds seemed to be overgrown, as he had expected, but the growth had an odd sort of pattern. Perhaps after this meeting, he would have time to think on that.

The path was nothing more than an old track through the grasses, but it led directly to the hill. It was a pleasant few minutes, and Harry took the time to center himself. Despite the argument of that morning, despite almost coming to blows with his uncle, Harry found himself calm.

Never having to go back to Privet Drive certainly helped with that. He had not expected to feel joy as the blood wards around the home collapsed. Not _his_ home, certainly - he had never been at home there. But Harry's grin as he had felt the wards collapse had almost escalated the situation, and he had not wanted that. He owed the Dursleys for their treatment of him over the past fifteen years, but that would have to wait for another day.

At the base of the hill, there was a small stone pillar. The stonework appeared to be ancient, as if this small marker had stood for a thousand years. And perhaps it had. But there was no moss, no evidence of neglect, no decay. It was pristine, having been preserved as only magic could.

The top of the pillar had an archway etched into its surface. Three stones on the left, another three on the right, and in the center a larger stone with the Potter crest. Again, Harry placed the ring on the crest, and again he spoke words that came to him.

"Ego lapisque angularis" _I am the Keystone._

As if a curtain had been parted, the glamours dissipated, and the manor house was revealed. It was obviously smaller than Potter Manor, which did not surprise Harry in the slightest. Potter Manor, and the acres and acres surrounding it, was the seat of what had been a large and powerful family. This, on the other hand, was a citadel. It was a fallback position intended to be absolutely secret and impenetrable in its security.

Once the manor was visible, Harry found that he could see the wards, the gentle dome of magic surrounding the hilltop. And now he understood why the letter had warned him to come alone. Any witch or wizard not of his blood who crossed those wards would be attacked.

"Dobby." With a soft pop, Harry heard the house elf appear at his side. "Can you tell if the manor is empty?"

Dobby disappeared for a moment, then returned. "Master Harry, there is no one else in the house, sir. No Witches, no Wizards, no Elves, nothing. But one room I could not search, sir."

Harry nodded. That was what the letter had told him to expect. "Good work, Dobby. Thank you. Go back to the manor and wait for me." He began walking forward before Dobby could respond.

The great doors opened before him as he approached. Harry Potter entered the manor, and found himself in a well appointed entrance hall. On the floor, he saw the Potter Crest, larger and more colorful than even the one at Potter Manor. A grand staircase rose to his left, and on the landing above him he saw a tapestry hanging, facing the door.

In front of him stood two great oaken doors, and he found himself drawn toward them. This had to be the meeting room the letter had mentioned. Perhaps now he would have some answers.

As he stepped forward, his eyes fell on the tapestry, and his breath caught.

The tapestry depicted a fierce battle. Wreathed in fire, three great beasts waged war. On his right was a serpent with seven heads. On his left stood… honestly, he had never seen a beast like this. It had the body of a lion, one paw raised in attack. But the lion's head was flanked by that of a raven and a snake. Harry's eyes lingered on the snake's head for a moment, and he saw that it was not a viper's head but a smaller, almost kinder snake. In the back of his mind, he thought of the healers and mediwitches he had met, like Madam Pomfrey, and the symbol he often saw on their offices - a staff with serpents.

Harry noticed that the lion's body and its head were two different colors, suggesting that they were two different beasts. One lion carrying another (and his allies) into battle.

Behind the lion was a lioness, reared back on its hind legs. Its paws moved in an intricate pattern, one Harry recognized as the wand motion for _Protego Maxima_ , a powerful shield charm.

The tapestry kept moving and changing, as he watched - just like a wizarding portrait. One of the snake's heads leapt forward and struck the lion on its paw, only to wither and die immediately. The other six heads backed away slightly, though Harry could tell that they would take any opportunity to strike.

It did not escape Harry's notice that the serpent had six sets of red eyes, glowing with hatred and greed for power. When he noticed that the Lion creature had three sets of bright green eyes, the meaning of the tapestry became clear. He could not figure out the grey eyes of the lioness, however.

 _Oh Merlin,_ he thought, staring at the image. _It's us._

Harry felt the parchment in his pocket vibrate, and he saw that he was standing at the center of the Potter crest. Taking out the parchment, he read the words again, hearing Ragnok's voice in his mind.

 _Lord Potter,_

 _Congratulations again on assuming your majority. I know that your days are full and your time valuable, but do not hesitate to inform me if the Goblin Nation can be of any assistance to you in the weeks to come._

 _Your accounts manager, Foecleaver, has notified me of a matter that demands your immediate attention. Once you have taken possession of Potter Manor, hold the enclosed key in your hand and stand on the Potter Crest in the entrance hall. Speak the words "_ _Ego lapisque angularis" and you will be transported via portkey to your family's most secure holding. The property, known only as Keystone Manor, will withstand any assault, and its location is hidden from anyone not of the Potter family._

 _Bring this letter with you. Stand on the crest in the entrance hall. This will open the council chamber. It is vital , for now, that you take_ _nothing_ _from that room that you did not bring, save knowledge. The room has seven doors - you will be able to exit only through the door from whence you entered._

 _This portkey will be active for seven minutes, beginning at the noon hour on the 5th of July, 1995. It is vital that you activate it at that time, and that you attend the meeting to follow at Keystone Manor._

 _Your allies wish to meet you, at long last. They will stand with you in the battles to come. As will I._

 _Good hunting, Lord Potter._

 _His Highness, Director Ragnok of Clan Ragnok_

 _Gringott's, London_

Harry folded the letter again, as the oaken doors opened before him. Setting aside his nerves, he strode forward.

oOoOoOoOo

The Council Chamber, as the letter had said, was a well lit room with seven doors. Above six of them, Harry saw the Potter Crest, though only four seemed to be giving off a soft glow, as if they had been activated somehow. The seventh had the Potter Crest alongside a circular crest Harry had never seen before. It featured a raven displayed, clutching a gleaming sword in one talon and a powerful-looking wand in the other. The scroll work below the raven was written in a language Harry could not decipher.

In the centre of the room sat a round table, ringed by seven chairs. Only the one in front of the double crest was occupied. As Harry entered, the man stood, and Harry gasped to himself.

He wore a black tunic with silver buttons, almost a military uniform. On his chest were the dual crests. At his waist, on a leather belt, was a short sword. His hands were clasped lightly behind him. Harry could see that the man stood taller than he did, and was more heavily muscled. But for all that, it was _him._ His black hair, his green eyes, his _scar_.

The man was Harry Potter, just as he was. Then it clicked. _Oh. Right, my allies._

Harry chuckled to himself, as he stood beside his own place at the table. "Director Ragnok said I would be meeting my allies today." Now he grinned, and watched as the man's face lit up at the goblin's name. "I just didn't expect it to be you lot."

Now the man chuckled in turn. "My father does have a flair for the dramatic, I suppose." He saw Harry's look, and nodded. "It is comforting, after all these years, to put faces to the voices."

Harry nodded. It had been years before he realized that the voices in his head had spoken with his own voice. At least, some of them.

A door to his left opened, admitting a young woman. Her eyes immediately surveyed the room, almost tactically, and Harry realized that she was targeting - looking for threats, exits, and so on. As her eyes swept toward him, Harry saw the same green eyes that looked at him from the mirror every morning. Her dark hair was tied in a loose knot, revealing her scar. Her robes were fitting for a young lord or lady, and seemed brand new - as if she had purchased them that morning. The Potter crest was visible, just as it was on his own robes.

She came to the realization at the same time he did. It was striking to see yourself as a woman, and equally so to see yourself as a man.

Harry smiled at her, trying to put her at ease. "You must be Rose, then?"

She nodded, saying nothing. Harry saw the tension in her, how her wand hand (the left, he noted) was kept easily at her side, ready for use if necessary.

"Oh my God," a woman said, but it was not Rose who spoke. Turning to the right, Harry saw another woman entering the chamber.

This woman, unlike Rose, had short red hair and grey eyes. She was taller than he was, but only somewhat. He saw some of the same tension in her that he had seen in Rose, but it was overwhelmed when she locked eyes with him. She gasped, putting a hand to her mouth, and began weeping.

The chair in front of her slid back, of its own accord, and she collapsed into it. He could see her shaking with emotion, the tears flowing freely.

"I'm so sorry, Harry, I'm so sorry…" she sobbed.

Harry's eyes looked to the man with the double crests, who shook his head gently. His lips moved, but with no sound. _In a moment_ , they said.

"The ceiling collapsed, Harry…" she was saying, haltingly, between sobs. "When he died, the blast collapsed the ceiling… It should have been me Harry…"

Harry's eyes went to her scar, the same as his own, and he understood. Wondering if the link still worked, he met the other man's eyes and thought _A twin?_

The double crested man's nod confirmed it - even here, even in this place, their connection remained. _Meet Marigold Lily Potter._

Before he could say anything else, a fifth door opened. "Oh what the hell," a man was heard to say.

Harry had sort of expected another version of himself to enter, and he was not disappointed. This one carried himself in the composed manner of a Lord, with robes finer than his own and accented with a gold Potter crest. His hair was longer, and he too kept it tied back. His scar was visible as well, but Harry could see that it had a glamour to appear less distinct than his own. Harry's eyes caught a glimpse of the boy's right hand, and saw a silver ring. The heir's ring.

 _Oh no…_

Behind the new arrival, a taller wizard entered. His hair was a dead giveaway, as were his eyes. The red-haired girl gasped as she saw them, for they matched her eyes almost exactly. Harry's attention, meanwhile, was drawn to the gold Lord's ring on the man's hand. The same ring Harry now wore. The same ring that he saw on Rose and Marigold's hands as well. The double crested man may have had the same ring, except that his dueling gloves would keep it hidden.

Of course he would have to come. Only Lord or Lady Potter could open the way to Keystone Manor. Lord James Potter looked around the room, the shock on his face evident.

"What the hell is going on here?" He asked.

The double crested man bowed slightly. "All will be explained, fa… Lord Potter. Please be seated, all of you."

Heir Potter took his seat, with his father taking the empty seat between his son and Rose. Harry sat as well, between the girls. An empty seat remained between the Marigold and the double crested man. Once they were seated, he spoke.

"Thank you for coming. I know that we've all spoken over the years, through our special connection, but I thought it was time for us to meet. When I took my place as Lord Potter, my father informed me of this citadel, and its connection across worlds. He told me of the prophecy." James' face went a little pale at the mention of a prophecy. "He told me of _both_ prophecies. And he bade me gather a war council."

Heir Potter looked unconvinced. "Your father…?"

The double crested man turned. "Perhaps I have gotten ahead of myself. My name is Harry Spellforged, adopted son of His Highness Director Ragnok of Clan Ragnok, proud leader of the Goblin Nation. I was born Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily Potter." He drew his sword and held it over the table, looking at each of them. "Tom Riddle, the coward known as Lord Voldemort, has returned. All of you were there, all of you stood in the graveyard as he declared war on us. And each of us stood with you, as you will remember."

"Each of you has fought your own Voldemort, in your own worlds. Each of you knows that your ministry will not consent to open conflict, preferring the status quo. I find this unacceptable."

"I say that a blood feud exists between us. I, for one, will not rest until he is dead and gone. We will not forgive him. We will not seek to calm his hate. We will give no quarter, nor will we allow him time to maneuver. We will not give aid or sanctuary to his allies." Spellforged looked at them all, once more, his gaze lingering on James. "Lord Potter, four of us stand here because in our worlds, Voldemort murdered both of our parents. In Marigold's case," he nodded to the red-haired girl, "He took her twin brother as well." James' look of horror was unmistakable.

Harry recognized the Goblin influence in his counterpart, the phrasing, the barely restrained anger. They said one should never mess with a goblin - and Harry Spellforged was a goblin, in every way that mattered. The venom in his words echoed what he felt, what they all felt.

"No," he continued. "This will not stand. Today, I vow - we will make war. A war that we, each of us, will win. The honor of our house demands nothing less."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Edited 25 November 2018 to add Section Divisions and clean format.**


	2. Making Friends

All of his life, Harry had heard voices in his head. Sometimes the soft, whispered words could barely be heard. Other times, in the quiet of night, they were clear as could be.

In the deep darkness of his cupboard, more than once he had wept with sorrow at his circumstances. He had never stopped to wonder if the sorrow was always his own.

There were other hints that this was something more than imagined voices. The day before his eighth birthday, Harry had collapsed at the dinner table. When he woke, Petunia said he had shouted "Neville!" and suddenly gotten dizzy.

Later that summer, he had spent an afternoon in the local library, hoping to escape Dudley's gang. A girl's startled gasp and angry stream of curses warned him that his cousin planned an ambush. He had thanked the girl, in his mind, wondering if she heard him too - only to have some of those curses directed at him. Apparently she had still been running away.

On the morning of his eleventh birthday, he woke to words angrily shouted in a language he did not know. The only phrase he could make out was _Hogwarts_ , which made no sense. Shortly, he had felt a stabbing pain in his thigh, even passing out from the shock of it. When he woke, hours later, there was no injury.

But the hint about Hogwarts helped - as did the early morning excitement of a boy's voice in his head. _I got it, I got my letter dad, I'm going to Hogwarts!_ The voice had cried out in joy. Harry made no sense of it at the time, but it did clue him in to stash away his own letter, when it came that evening.

Sometimes it seemed like the voices lived their own lives. The train ride to Hogwarts their first year was interesting, as each of them seemed to meet different people at different times. Their connection had gotten stronger, now that they were sharing experiences. Harry had laughed when he heard a girl's voice introducing herself to Draco Malfoy, offering to help him make the right sort of friends - and leaving him speechless.

oOoOoOoOo

The sorting had been remarkable - as it was the first time that four of them were able to speak directly. The sorting hats, hearing different versions of them arguing, decided to quiet them down by using their connection.

"Now look, you four," it had said, "You each have led very different lives. But there are similarities as well. All of you have bravery and ambition, as well as a ready mind. Your loyalty is unquestioned, but I think it is strongest with each other. After all, even as voices, you've all grown up together."

A girl had spoken up, then. "I want to be in Gryffindor. It's what Harry would have wanted."

"I daresay, my dear Marigold, that it is indeed what Harry wants. Both Harrys, yes?" The boys, Harry and Heir Potter, confirmed that it was.

"Very well, then - better be GRYFFINDOR!" And in three worlds, the hat shouted out, and two boys and a red haired girl stood and happily walked to the house of the lions.

The other girl had remained silent, listening and learning. Her hat almost smiled, at that. "You seem to be the quietest of your counterparts, but you miss nothing. I daresay you would be the most loyal of any of them, to one who proved themselves worthy of your trust."

Rose scoffed. "No one has done that before, and I don't expect them to now." She had sighed, then. "No, I've always been on my own. I'll make my own way, sir."

"You have it in you to be truly great, Rose Potter. The tools are all there, inside you, waiting. And there's only one house for it, but you knew that already. It will not be an easy path." The Hat waited for her response, but as before, she kept her own counsel. "As you wish, my dear. Welcome to SLYTHERIN!" And in a fourth world, the great hall fell silent as Rose Potter walked to the den of snakes.

A few minutes later, a fifth hat was surprised to find Harry Spellforged under its brim. "Another one? Oh, raised as a goblin by your father, but with a foster mother to teach you of the wizarding world, yes I see… what a remarkable life you've lead, sir. "

"Thank you," he responded, not knowing what else to think.

"Of your counterparts, I'd say you had to work the hardest to get where you are, but I expect that you knew that. You fought an honour duel just to win the right to attend, that sort of bravery would get you far in the house of lions. But oh my, you've studied wand and goblin magic. High finance, world affairs both magical and mundane, the workings of the wizarding government as well as the high clans…" The hat almost whistled. "You wield your mind like that blade you carry, young sir."

The hat heard a soft chuckle. "My father bet me 5 galleons that I would end up in Gryffindor. My money was on Ravenclaw, of course."

"And that proves the point, young goblin. You stand with feet in both worlds. It will not get easier for you, but your head of house will be invaluable. Seek his wisdom. Now, however, welcome to RAVENCLAW!" And in a fifth world, Harry Spellforged stood and bowed to the head table, before taking his seat with the ravens.

oOoOoOoOo

At the urging of Harry Spellforged, the five took to meditating in the evenings. It helped them clear their minds and focus, both on their studies and on each other's words. Eventually, they decided to hold a conference, so to speak, at curfew on Friday evening.

As Harry closed his eyes and followed the breathing techniques that Spellforged had offered, he could already hear Marigold and Heir Potter arguing about Hermione Granger. Heir Potter liked her, though he thought she was a bit annoying. Marigold (who shared a dorm with her) argued that she had never had true friends, and that the boys should be patient with her.

"She's a muggleborn, her only path was to be the best and the smartest. I bet she'll fight for top of the class, and get it." she said.

Harry chimed in. "I think she'll have an easier go of things if she learns that the professors will call on her whether she puts her hand up or not. And she might go a little bit more under the radar." Then Marigold and Harry had to explain what radar was, as Heir Potter was not muggle-raised as they were - a fact they had forgotten.

None of them had realized that Rose had joined them, until her quiet voice spoke. "I've noticed a girl in Ravenclaw with that name, and she's having a rough time."

"She's in Gryffindor here," said Harry. "Probably because she ended up with Neville and Ron and I on the train." Rose did not respond, but Spellforged did.

"I've already spoken to her. She doesn't stand out as much in my ravenclaw - probably because everyone is curious about me." Harry could hear the chuckle in the goblin's voice. "I can already tell she's going to be a good ally to have." It was the first time that all five of them agreed on anything.

oOoOoOoOo

Halloween brought more surprises than anyone could have expected.

It began when Rose found a crying ravenclaw girl in the bathroom. The girl looked up as the door opened, and cringed when she saw the green robe of the snakes. Rose sighed at that, before approaching slowly.

"It's alright, I'm not going to do anything." she said, keeping her hands open. "Hermione, right? What happened?"

Hermione wiped her tears away, wondering what to say to the slytherin girl in front of her. "Why do you care?" she said.

Rose sat down next to her, bring her knees to her chest. "Because you're not the only girl who found herself crying in a bathroom for being too smart."

Hermione sighed. "I thought it would be so wonderful, to learn about magic… but I forgot that we're all just dumb kids."

Rose snorted. "Not _all_ of us are dumb, Miss Granger." To her surprise, Hermione chuckled at that.

"Maybe you're right."

Rose stood, offering her hand to the young girl. "Maybe, nothing. You would do well to heed my counsel, Ravenclaw." Her tone was serious but Hermione saw the look in her eyes, and the laugh that threatened to escape.

"Very well, Miss Potter, I will of course consider your advice, despite the fact that you are a Slytherin."

Rose bowed mockingly, then fought herself to not be the first one to start laughing. She lost. Once they had themselves put back together, they went to the evening feast.

As Rose went to the Slytherin table, she sent her thoughts to the link. _If Hermione Granger is missing, check the bathroom. She was in there crying before dinner._

 _Ron Weasley said something dumb,_ replied Marigold. _I caught her in the hallway and steadied her down. She's sitting next to me._

 _I was busy yelling at Ron,_ said one of the Harrys. _So was I_ , replied the other. Both confirmed that she was missing, and agreed to check the bathroom after the feast.

 _My Hermione is missing as well,_ responded Spellforged. _I stayed behind to speak to Professor Flitwick, and didn't see the altercation._ Rose looked up as Professor Quirrell stormed into the great hall.

"TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!"

 _Hermione!_ Rose heard the boys shout, almost in unison, over the link. She set it aside, as she watched Quirrell collapse. Something wasn't right…

 _Something happened to Professor Quirrell. But he didn't lose consciousness, he just fell over._ Rose felt, rather than heard, Marigold's shock.

 _You saw it too?_ Marigold asked. _I'm sitting close to where he fell, I'm going to check on him._

 _Alright_ , _be careful_. Rose said. She kept her eyes on her own Quirrell.

 _AH SHIT SHIT SHIT_ Marigold was screaming. _He's burning!_ _I touched him and he started burning!_

Rose took out her wand and stood. Daphne Greengrass saw the motion, and drew her own wand. Professor Dumbledore tried to restore order to the room, and the students started quieting down.

"What are you doing?" asked Daphne. Rose pointed at Quirrell. As the girls watched, they saw his hand move slightly.

"He's faking." said Rose, quietly. "Stunners on three." Daphne's eyes grew wide, but she aimed her wand alongside Rose. Michael Corner, a ravenclaw in their year, watched wide-eyed as they shot stunners at a professor. Quirrell stopped moving when the stunners hit.

Rose saw Michael watching them. "Get the headmaster." She said calmly, keeping her wand aimed at the professor.

More students were noticing them now, and Michael's report had reached Flitwick, who approached the girls. To his great credit, his wand was out as well - very little got past the former dueling master.

"Miss Potter, Miss Greengrass?" the professor asked.

Rose winced, as Marigold's voice returned in her mind. _VOLDEMORT! WHAT THE FUCK!_

 _Mari, calm down._ Spellforged replied. Rose could tell he was still running, probably to the bathroom. _What happened?_

 _He had Voldemort under his turban._ She was calmer now, and Spellforged's steady voice of command helped. _I reached for his throat to check his pulse. When I touched him, he started burning. He burst into flame and a black ghost thing flew out of his turban. It said it was Voldemort!_ The panic in her voice started to return, and Rose came to the realization that Marigold had just killed a man.

"Rose?" Daphne hissed, angry at being left hanging while Rose was silent. Rose looked at her, then at the professor.

"Professor Flitwick, there was something moving under Professor Quirrell's Turban. I thought it might injure him further, so I asked Daphne to help stun him. I didn't want him to move and aggravate a head injury."

The ravenclaw head of house looked at his fallen colleague. Dumbledore was walking down the centre aisle now, causing more of the students to look their way. Flitwick spoke as the Headmaster arrived.

"Does Quirinus have any religious traditions that require that turban?" Flitwick asked. Dumbledore looked puzzled, then shook his head. "Good, then we can check him out before moving him."

Slowly, gingerly, Flitwick leaned forward. "You'll need Madam Pomfrey, Albus." he said. With his off hand, Flitwick reached for the edge of the wrapped fabric turban, lifting it up.

 _Where was he, Marigold?_ Rose thought.

 _Back of the professor's head._ Was the reply.

"I believe you should start with the back of his head, sir." said Rose. Daphne noticed that the Headmaster's wand came out at those words. Rose kept her focus on the turban, and did not see.

Flitwick had unwrapped several lengths of the purple cloth, before gasping and stepping back. He had revealed a mouth on the back of the professor's head.

Dumbledore grew pale. Wordlessly, he immobilized the professor.

"Possession?" Flitwick asked quietly, his wand still aimed at Quirrell. Dumbledore's slight nod was all the answer he would get, here in the great hall surrounded by students - all of whom were now watching with rapt attention.

"We will want to move him somewhere more secure." Dumbledore said simply. He looked to Rose and Daphne, as if seeing them for the first time. "Fifty points to Slytherin, I believe, ladies. Now please rejoin your classmates. We will take it from here."

Daphne needed no further encouragement, nearly dragging Rose back to the table. "What the hell was that?" she asked.

"I'll explain later. It's a long story." Rose replied calmly.

 _Found the troll_ , Rose heard in her head. She could not tell which Harry it was until his next thought and its dripping sarcasm. _Hey, any tips for fighting a troll?_ Heir Potter may have grown up in luxury, but that did nothing to temper his sass.

 _Cut its tendons, then stab it in the throat._

Rose heard Harry's snort of amusement. _Not all of us carry Goblin blades, Spellforged._

 _Does it have a club?_ Rose thought. _We just did levitation charms today, I'll bet you did too._

The link was quiet, presumably as the boys focused on fighting a bloody _Mountain Troll_. Rose shook her head and sipped her pumpkin juice. Daphne continued to watch her curiously, wondering what her story was, exactly.

Professor Snape walked past them, on his way to the infirmary, presumably to follow the headmaster and Flitwick.

"Professor Snape, sir?" Rose asked. He halted, looking at her with his usual disdain. She did not give him time to speak, but plowed ahead. "Sir, we heard a crash a minute ago. It sounded like it came from the third floor corridor, perhaps near the bathrooms. Could the troll have gotten up there?"

Snape looked at her, thoughtfully. "Perhaps, Miss Potter. I shall inform the Headmaster." Then his cloak billowed behind him, and he was gone. Rose turned back to her table, and found herself faced with the piercing gaze of Daphne Greengrass.

Rose sighed. "Like I said, it's a very long story."

* * *

 ** _A/N:_ Edited 25 November 2018 to add Section Divisions.**


	3. Marigold's Tale

Disclaimer: I own nothing of JK Rowling's work.

The troll had been cause for concern - especially for the Slytherins, whose dorm was in the dungeons where the beast was supposedly found. The death of a professor, however, at the wraith-like hands of He-who-must-not-be-named? That almost brought about a panic.

It took several minutes to calm the students down. Over the shouts for calm from the remaining professors, almost no one noticed Professor Sprout leading Marigold Potter out of the great hall. When Hagrid finally reported that the troll had been found and contained on the third floor, the students were dismissed back to their rooms.

Professor McGonagall left the prefects in charge of her Gryffindors before she too went to leave the great hall. Hermione Granger moved to follow close behind. The Deputy Headmistress turned when she saw the girl behind her, but kept moving.

"Miss Granger…" she began.

"Marigold is my friend." said Hermione. The professor sighed, and then nodded. She knew how dearly both girls needed friends, as both had had a difficult time adjusting.

"Follow me, then."

oOoOoOoOo

 _From the Daily Prophet, 1 November 1981, Special Edition_

 _ **You-Know-Who Defeated!**_

 _ **3 Dead in Attack - 15 Month Old Only Survivor**_

 _ **Dark Lord Slain by Own Killing Curse**_

 _Representatives from the Ministry of Magic and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have confirmed that the Dark Lord known as Lord Voldemort was slain in Godric's Hollow last evening. You-Know-Who died during an attack on the home of Auror James Potter, 21, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter and a prominent opponent of the Dark Lord's terrorist group._

 _Lord Potter was killed by You-Know-Who while defending his wife, Lily Potter, 21, and his twin children, Marigold and Harry, 15 months. Lady Potter retreated to the children's bedroom, where she was felled by the Dark Lord's killing curse. His opponents defeated, You-Know-Who turned his wand on the children in their cots. His inexplicable cruelty was soon repaid in full, however._

 _For reasons unknown, You-Know-Who attacked young Marigold Lily Potter with the killing curse. A source in the DMLE, speaking on condition of anonymity, reports that the curse rebounded violently and struck the Dark Lord himself. You-Know-Who, unable to contain the backlash of his own magic, exploded in a blast of energy. The walls and ceiling of the upstairs bedroom were damaged in the blast, and both children were injured by the debris. While Marigold was protected by the partially collapsed cot, her brother was not as fortunate._

 _Authorities report with sadness that Harry James Potter died of his injuries shortly after the explosion. Sirius Black, the boy's godfather and one of the DMLE's hitwizards, arrived on scene within moments of the explosion, just in time to hold the boy as he passed. Authorities believe the home was under a Fidelius charm, though the identity of the secret keeper (and the Potters' betrayer) is unclear as of this writing._

 _Marigold Lily Potter, now Heiress to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, Vanquisher of the Dark Lord, was taken to an undisclosed location for the treatment of her injuries. Apart from minor cuts and bruises from debris, the Girl-Who-Lived also seemed to have a curse wound where the killing curse struck her forehead._

 _A source in the Department of Mysteries refused to comment on the events of last evening, but did confirm that, in all our records, there has never been a witch or wizard who survived a direct hit by the killing curse._

 _Continued on Page 3…_

oOoOoOoOo

When she entered the Hospital Wing, Hermione saw Marigold Potter sitting by herself in one of the infirmary beds. The girl was hugging her knees to her chest and rocking softly back and forth. Her eyes were closed, but the pain on her face was obvious.

Professor McGonagall walked over to Madam Pomfrey, who led the Deputy Headmistress into her office. Hermione carried a chair over to the side of Marigold's bed, and sat down. She said nothing. After a moment, Marigold sighed, then glanced over, before closing her eyes once more.

"It's happening again, Hermione." Marigold said, simply.

Despite herself, Hermione shook her head. "You did nothing wrong."

"Pull the other one, it's got bells on." was the sad reply. "If I hadn't done anything, that man would still be alive." She opened her eyes, looking at Hermione. "I've done it again."

"He'd still be alive with an dark spirit under his bloody turban, Mari!" Then Hermione processed her friend's last remark. "What do you mean, again?"

Marigold sighed. "I've never lived anywhere without someone dying because of me. I can't do this again, Hermione." Her voice was a whisper, and Hermione could see how much was left unsaid.

She placed her hand on Marigold's, and winced when she saw the red-haired girl tense at the contact. "You're not a killer, Marigold Potter."

A weary chuckle was her answer. "You don't know me." Her eyes closed again. "You shouldn't know me."

Her head shook again. "I know enough. And I know that you're not alone."

They sat quietly for a few minutes. Hermione could see Marigold trying to gather her thoughts. There was no need to push her, no need for answers this night. But eventually, to Hermione's surprise, Marigold broke the silence.

"James Potter."

Hermione looked up. "What?"

Marigold continued. "Lily Potter. Timothy Crawford. Quirinus Quirrell." Then another soft sigh. "Harry Potter."

 _Harry Potter… Oh Marigold no…_

"My parents died protecting me when I was a baby." Her voice was barely audible, and Hermione leaned in to listen. Her hand remained on Marigold's. "My brother died when the ceiling collapsed. All three died because a dark wizard tried to murder a baby."

"Then I lived with my aunt and uncle." The venom in Marigold's voice was clear. "Their son, my cousin, would get bored during the summers. His favorite sport was ginger-hunting. He'd hide out with his gang and wait for me. If they caught me, I'd have a fight on my hands. If they didn't, he'd get me in trouble at home and I'd have a fight there against my whale of an uncle."

"One summer, they waited for me at the library. They had caught me there before, so this time I escaped out the back. I was already across the street when they saw me. There were five of them, including a boy named Timothy."

Hermione saw a tear roll down the girl's face. Her voice remained steady, as if it would only break if she stopped telling the tale.

"Dudley and his friends were going to chase me, they shouted their threats at me, even in public. There was a lorry coming down the street. I had seen it, but knew I had enough time to beat it. By the time they got to the edge of the road, it was too close. Four of them realized that and waited. Tim didn't."

"I hadn't stopped to see if they chased me, I just ran. I learned that lesson early. So by the time I got home, word had already gotten to the Dursleys that one of their son's friends had been killed." She shook her head sadly, wiping away another tear. "I didn't even see it happen and it was my fault. I think that was the worst beating I ever had to take."

Hermione squeezed Marigold's hand, not knowing what else to do. "It sounds like you didn't have an easy go of things." _It sounds like your family was full of monsters,_ thought Hermione, but now was not the time. She set aside her anger on her friend's behalf, promising herself that she would do something.

Marigold nodded at the comment. "It wasn't. The only real hope I had was that someone was with me, protecting me. When I was little I thought it might be my parents, or an angel or something, but there are no angels in that house. Later I realized that it was Harry. And the thought of him watching over me, making sure I wasn't _alone_ … Hermione, that's about the only thing that kept me sane."

"And then I got my Hogwarts letter. And suddenly I was in a world of literal magic, where I was not a dirt poor orphan but the daughter of nobility." She grinned, despite the emotion in her voice. "I wasn't alone. I was a witch. Not a freak."

Another sigh. "And now another person is dead, because of me. Hermione, how can they keep me here when I turned a professor to ash?"

Hermione leaned forward, her other arm on the side of the bed. "None of those deaths are on you, Marigold Potter. None of them."

"You don't know that," Marigold said again.

"But I do."

Both girls looked up to see Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, listening quietly. Hermione saw the moisture on the professor's cheeks, and realized what it meant. _How much had they heard?_

"Miss Granger, I believe it is approaching curfew. Miss Potter will need her rest." The Deputy Headmistress spoke softly, the edge gone from her voice. "You may sit with her for a few more minutes, and then I will escort you back to the tower."

Marigold and Hermione looked at each other, then at the professor. "Yes, Professor." said Hermione.

After a long hug and a promise to talk in the morning, Hermione left Marigold with Madam Pomfrey, who already had a potion ready to help her sleep. In the corridor, Hermione found Professor McGonagall waiting for her. They began walking back to Gryffindor Tower.

Without preamble, Hermione looked up at her head of house. "You're going to fix it, right?"

Minerva's heart was still breaking for the Potter girl. But decisions about the home lives of her students were not hers to make, even if changes were sorely necessary. And if even half of Miss Potter's story was true, changes were indeed necessary. Knowing that and convincing Dumbledore of that were two very different things, however. So Minerva McGonagall, knowing how hollow the words would sound to this determined girl, gave the only answer she could.

"We will do what we can."

Hermione knew a brush off when she heard it. Her teachers had made similar noises when she reported bullying in her previous schools, at least until she stopped bothering. She was surprised to learn how similar the magical and muggle worlds actually were.

"In a muggle school," Hermione said, "That girl would be meeting with a psychologist. She would be getting therapy of some type. Maybe all the therapy."

The Professor looked thoughtful. "Even if we cannot - yet - change conditions in Miss Potter's home life, perhaps a mind healer would not be out of the question." They approached the Fat Lady's painting, and with it the entrance to the Gryffindor dorms.

"Marigold is my friend, Professor. Don't promise that if you can't make it happen," Hermione said coldly, before turning to the painting. "Pig Snout!" she snapped. Hearing the password, the painting began to open.

"Marigold needs help. You, Professor, are her head of house. The task falls to you." With that, Hermione left her Head of House and entered the common room.

Several minutes passed before Minerva McGonagall began the walk back to the Headmaster's office.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Thank you for the kind thoughts and support. As with many of my stories, this began as a drabble that quickly grew out of control. It's not going to be five parallel versions of the stations of canon, and we've already deviated a little in the case of both Marigold's and Rose's worlds (Not to mention Heir Potter, who grew up with both Prongs and Uncle Padfoot close at hand). Rather, I hope to make this into some sort of character study. We have five very different versions of the child-who-lived, each with their own history and troubles. Yet, as they have recently learned, they are not alone. Of course, with five versions of Harry Potter, we also get five different Hermiones - some of whom will be closer to their Harry analogue than others.**

 **I'm also going to write this as one story - if I've done it correctly, you will not need a flow chart to understand what is happening, nor where or to whom it is happening. It should be pretty clear which Harry's world we're peeking into, but I will try to be as unsubtle as possible about setting the scene.**

 **Feedback is always welcome. Thanks again for reading.**

 _ **A/N 2:**_ **Edited 25 November 2018 to add Section Divisions in line with future chapters**


	4. Curriculum Vitae

Ragnok, son of Ragnok, Director of Gringott's and ruler of the Goblin Nation in the British Isles, was surprised to find himself alone in the corridor outside the hospital wing. No guards, no tellers, no accounts managers, no clients. Even with the dramatic events of the evening, Hogwarts had an eerie quiet to it, far different from the low rumble of activity he had always associated with his home.

Word of the troll attack had reached him almost before it reached the headmaster - Harry had wasted no time in notifying him using a pair of enchanted mirrors. Foecleaver, one of his assistants and the manager of his son's accounts, had wanted to send a squad of warriors, just in case there turned out to be more than the one troll. Fortunately for all involved, Ragnok had talked him down.

 ** _GOBLIN WARRIORS INVADE HOGWARTS_** was not the headline Ragnok wanted to see tomorrow. The old goblin shook his head at the thought. _Of course, "_ ** _TROLL BREAKS INTO HOGWARTS, INJURES MUGGLEBORN_** " _isn't a great headline, either,_ he mused.

With anyone other than Albus Dumbledore as headmaster, that might indeed have been the headline. But tonight was the tenth anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, so you'd need something more than an injured muggleborn to bump the usual boy-who-lived nonsense from the front page.

The fact that said muggleborn was rescued by that same boy-who-lived wouldn't even factor into the equation.

Ragnok watched as his son's head of house, Professor Filius Flitwick, spoke with the injured girl. She had been lucky - her only injury was a broken leg, and she received that only because the troll's club sent part of a sink flying into her. If his son's report was accurate, she could have gotten much worse.

Indeed, she could easily have been killed.

Harry had been vague about the girl, and more so about how he knew her whereabouts. From his telling, a boy in another house had criticized her and she had run off, weeping. The bathroom in which she was attacked was nowhere near the classroom where the taunting occurred, so perhaps another student had seen her? It still doesn't explain why Harry thought it necessary to sprint to the bathroom, charge in with blade in hand, and challenge a troll more than twice his size, all without backup and without notifying a teacher.

Ragnok sighed. He had almost missed the footsteps behind him. Almost.

"Greetings, Headmaster." said Ragnok.

"Greetings, Director Ragnok." replied the Headmaster. "I must admit, I am surprised to see you here this evening."

Ragnok turned to the headmaster, smiling with a cold, predatory grin. "By all accounts, Professor, it seems that this evening has been full of surprises." He turned his attention back to the infirmary, where Professor Flitwick was calming the injured student down. "You will forgive me, I hope, if I chose to see to my son's safety personally."

It wasn't fair, really. Dumbledore had had a very long evening, capped off by a search of the school to make sure that the troll really was alone. His fatigue and annoyance was balanced against the fact that he was standing in the corridor speaking with what amounted to a foreign head of state. A head of state who happened to be the adoptive father of the Boy-who-lived.

"It seems that Mr. Spellforged chose to forgo the assistance of the professors, in favor of a bold charge into danger." Dumbledore sighed, though Ragnok couldn't tell if the mannerism came from simple fatigue or genuine disappointment at the choice. "His training served him well, Director."

Ragnok nodded. "I will be sure to notify his instructors. They will be pleased."

"I am concerned, however," continued Dumbledore. "Harry's first reaction to danger cannot always be to stab it with his goblin knife. However elegant and well crafted your gift may be, it will not be the solution to every problem." Now, Ragnok definitely heard the thread of disappointment in the professor's voice.

"If my son's opening gambit was to stab his opponent, then you may be assured that he believed that to be the correct strategy. Had there been another option, Harry would have taken it without a second thought."

Dumbledore could not help himself. "Will every opponent of Mr. Spellforged find themselves dead, Director?"

It was a good thing that Ragnok had come alone - for a comment such as that would demand a strong response, had it been made in front of his men. The Director took a deep breath.

"Headmaster," Ragnok began, "Let us have no misunderstandings, here. I will repeat what I told you eight years ago, and what I again repeated in June. Harry Potter is a child of my clan, and the only son I will ever know. And as my son, he has been raised as a prince of the Goblin Nation. He has studied war, yes, as all of our sons must. He has trained many long hours so that his reflexes will be true, his muscle memory unmatched."

"But the Director of Gringotts is not some bloodthirsty Warrior King who cries out for the heads of his enemies. He is… I am a diplomat. A facilitator. A businessman. And you cannot do business with an opponent once you've slain them." His eyes met the Headmaster's. "If there is a peaceful option, you may be assured that Harry would find it."

The goblin chuckled. "I daresay, Professor, that you will already have found Harry solving disputes between students in the hallways. He's been like that as long as I've had the honour of knowing him. You've no doubt noticed that he is a very caring young man." Dumbledore nodded, saying nothing.

"So here we have a boy who learns that one of his housemates is missing, possibly in danger. He knows he has the training to deal with that danger, though perhaps he underestimated the size of that danger somewhat. And he also knows, from a credible source, that the danger is in another part of the castle." Ragnok nodded toward the infirmary, and saw Professor Flitwick approaching. "Yes, he should have told a teacher. But I would argue that the failure here isn't that he lacked trust in the teachers - I'm told that he and his head of house get along quite well. No, the failure is that the teachers are a valuable resource that he left unused. And that foolishness left him to challenge a troll alone."

Dumbledore looked at the goblin, but again said nothing.

"I will instruct my son to notify his head of house if he learns of any dangerous situations within these walls." Ragnok smiled at the Headmaster, and Dumbledore saw that this was the goblin's closing-the-deal smile. It meant that the discussion was ended. "I trust that will be sufficient to address your concerns, Headmaster?"

"Of course, Director." Dumbledore nodded, not wanting to further antagonize the Director. He was, after all, the parent of a student. He turned to Professor Flitwick, who had kept his distance during the last part of their discussion. "What news, Filius?"

Flitwick nodded to the Director, before addressing his Headmaster. "Miss Granger has a broken leg, but Madam Pomfrey should have that sorted by morning. I expect her to keep Miss Granger for an additional day after that, to monitor her. But if that was her only major injury, then it seems we were incredibly lucky."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "I trust she is resting well, then?"

"She will eventually, Albus. I believe she will have trouble sleeping tonight, unfortunately."

Ragnok tuned the professors out as they discussed the events of the evening. He instead looked back into the infirmary, and the bed near the end surrounded by privacy curtains. Inside, there was a young girl who had befriended his son, and who had probably had the scare of her young life this night. He shook his head, wondering where her parents were.

Dumbledore caught his attention again. "I must take my leave, Director Ragnok." He inclined his head in as much of a bow as any goblin could expect. "I look forward to our next debate, sir."

Ragnok grinned again. "As do I, Headmaster." With that, Dumbledore turned and walked toward his office. The Director, meanwhile, turned to the Ravenclaw head of house.

 **/Greetings, Filius Flitwick./** began Ragnok, using the Goblin tongue. **/May your foes continue to underestimate you./**

Flitwick bowed his head in response. **/Greetings, Director Ragnok. May your gold flow from unexpected sources./**

The Director laughed; the traditional greetings were much more fun when your companion was the slightest bit creative. 'May death claim your enemies' got old after the fiftieth time.

 **/I am surprised the young girl's parents have not arrived to see their daughter./** began Ragnok, nodding toward the infirmary.

Flitwick shook his head. **/They are muggles, Director. I doubt they would be notified, certainly not if their daughter escaped permanent harm./**

Ragnok's face registered his surprise - any Goblin parent would have been told of such an injury, if only so they could seek compensation. The Director shook his head, showing disappointment of his own.

 **/Professor, if that girl needs her parents here to help her heal, I would ask that you make arrangements to portkey them here at my expense./** Then the Director thought further, recalling how he had observed Flitwick trying to calm the girl down. **/If she finds that she would benefit from a mind healer, I will make arrangements for the cost of that as well./**

Flitwick nodded. **/She will already have taken her potions for the night. I will speak with her in the morning, Director./**

 **/Good./** The Director smiled, looking over at the Professor. **/Come, then, let us walk to the entranceway, and you can tell me about my son and his friends./** The two began walking to the entrance hall, the corridor echoing only with the sounds of their footsteps and an occasional bark of goblin laughter.


	5. The Devil in the Details

Harry Potter was late getting to bed the next evening. He had sat with Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, talking about the troll - or, rather, listening to Hermione worrying about how bad it could have been if Ron and he had not arrived right then. She did not question him further when he told her how he knew where she was ("A girl said something about you being there,") - which was fortunate, because Harry still wasn't sure quite how to explain his link. And if Hermione Granger got wind that Harry had some sort of link between alternate universes, she would never let it rest.

 _And alternate universes they were_ , he thought, as he made his way to the dorm. They had to be. One of the girls had killed the defense professor, while another one stunned hers - only to find that both had been possessed. Did that mean his Quirrell was possessed as well? Dumbledore surely would have noticed if one of her professors was carrying the Dark Lord around on his head, right?

As Harry quietly began getting ready for bed (his roommates being already asleep), his thoughts continued to consider the implications. If there were versions of him in these other worlds, and Hermione, maybe there were other versions of Ron as well. Neville? The Headmistress? His Dad?

His Mom?

The buzz at the back of his mind, the one that told him his alternates were already chatting, had grown louder as he closed the curtains on his bed. As he quieted his thoughts and brought the link to the surface, he heard the beginnings of a lively conversation.

Spellforged talked about the visit his father had had with Headmaster Dumbledore, and how the two rarely got along. As he described the encounter, and Director Ragnok's reaction to the attack, Harry thought about that piece of information. _So Headmistress Dumbledore is actually Headmaster Dumbledore in his world? Wow._

Harry wondered if Ragnok was the Director of Gringott's in his world as well. And then decided it wouldn't matter. _Greetings, Director, you don't know me, but in another reality you adopted me after my only remaining relatives got killed. Want to have lunch?_

Spellforged was talking to Marigold now, and Harry could tell that she was still upset at the events of Halloween. He listened as Spellforged and the other Harry reassured her, while he and Rose remained silent. After a few moments, he found himself wondering why he was thinking about Uncle Moony - but the calm words of Spellforged made the comparison obvious.

Before long, Rose drew the group's attention to the nundu in the room - Voldemort.

"Professor Snape won't tell me what happened, but Quirrell was gone today and his classes were cancelled for all of next week." she reported. "Between what Daphne and I saw, and what happened to Marigold's Quirrell, it's a good bet that the others are carrying Voldemort around as well."

Other Harry spoke up. "My scar hurts whenever I look at him. If he were just a nervous professor, that wouldn't happen, right? So he's here."

"Here too," Harry decided to speak up for the first time. "And it's the same - I've never had pain in my scar like this."

"We need to be cautious." began Spellforged. "Especially if touching Professor Quirrell will kill him somehow. Marigold had the whole great hall as witnesses. But if we ambush him in his classroom, for example, there will be some hard questions." Harry could almost picture the look of contemplation on the boy's face - easily done, seeing as it was likely his face too.

"Don't forget," said Rose, "Our worlds are different. Not that different, or else there wouldn't be one of us there, but different enough that I was a boy in some of them. There might be other changes."

Other Harry summed up the discussion, even though it would be another twenty minutes before the quintet ended the conference and went to bed. "If Voldemort is here, in all five worlds, we can't just do _nothing_."

* * *

The next week's discussion brought more revelations. This time, Harry was waiting when Spellforged joined the link.

"You seem restless, Harry." said the Ravenclaw. "Nervous?"

"It's not every day you have your first real game of quidditch. Dad has run me through chaser drills since I could hold a broom - I know I can do this."

Spellforged chuckled. "But?"

Harry couldn't help but grin. "But I can barely sit still. What about you, did McGonagall try to get you playing as well?"

"Nope. Maybe it comes from growing up underground, but I've never been a great flier." He paused. "I didn't even leave the ground during lessons. It probably helped that we had lessons with the Hufflepuffs - from what Harry said, your lessons were much more exciting."

Other Harry had joined them at this point. "Yeah, Malfoy turned out to be a bigger prat than we thought. I ended up grabbing something he stole from Neville Longbottom, and the Professor made me seeker."

"A chaser and a seeker, hmmm…" mused Spellforged. "I wonder if the girls play?"

"Not me," said Marigold, speaking up for the first time. "I stayed on the ground and cushioned Neville, so Malfoy never had a chance for his shenanigans."

"Nor I," said Rose. "Slytherin already has a seeker. And taking his slot on the roster would bring more attention than I'd like. No thank you."

"I never really considered playing seeker, so they moved Alicia Spinnet over - she was a reserve seeker last year." said Harry. "Dad was a chaser, and he taught me some of his plays." The others were quiet at this, to the point that Harry wondered if he had lost his connection to the link somehow.

"Harry," Rose began. "When you say your dad, who do you mean?"

 _What?_ "My birth father. Senior Auror James Charlus Potter." He didn't know where this was going. "Why?"

More silence.

Rose took up the questioning - for that's how it felt, at first. Harry was still puzzled, and only grew more so when the quiet slytherin's voice began to speak. _She sounds upset_.

"Harry, we've been talking about how our worlds are different, but we're different too." She paused, as if she were trying to figure out how to approach the topic. "Let's start with your family. Your father is Lord Potter. Who is your mother?"

Harry couldn't see where she was going with this, but kept himself calm. "My mother was Lily Potter. She died ten years ago, saving me from Voldemort. My godmother helps out when Dad needs it, but it's usually just him and I and Uncle Padfoot."

"Who is your godmother?" Rose asked.

"Director Amelia Bones." Harry answered. "She has a niece in our year, or at least my Aunt Amelia does. Susan Bones, in Hufflepuff. If yours is anything like mine, I think you'd like her. We grew up together."

"Alright, and who is Padfoot?"

"Sirius Black, one of Dad's oldest friends and my Uncle in all but blood. He's the Lord Black, if Dad ever convinces him to take up his seat."

"So many differences," Spellforged muttered.

"Right," agreed Rose. "But we can talk about the others later. Harry," and here he could tell she was trying to be delicate. He could hear the emotion in her words, a rarity for the reserved Slytherin. "In my world, both James and Lily Potter died on that Halloween."

 _What?!_ "But, how…" Harry couldn't imagine growing up without his father. Losing his mom had been hard enough, even as young as he had been. The ghosts were plain on Dad's face, when he thought that Harry wasn't looking.

Rose pressed on. "I was taken to mom's sister, a woman named Petunia Dursley. She and her husband were technically my guardians."

"As was I," said Marigold. "Did they have a son? Dudley?"

"If you can call him that," snarked Rose. "Hagrid gave the lump a pig's tail and it looked like it belonged there."

"Some things are the same, then," said the other Harry. "I grew up at the Dursleys too. What about you, Spellforged?"

"I was placed there, at first." His voice was quiet, and Harry could tell that he was growing angry at what he was hearing. "They died when I was three, and the muggles placed me in foster care - but by sheer luck, the foster mother they assigned me to was a muggleborn witch, a cursebreaker at Gringott's. She realized who I was and went to the goblins for help. Her boss, then Assistant Director Ragnok, brought the request to his father, the director. When the director was hesitant to help, Ragnok solved the problem by adopting me himself. Grandfather was _angry_ , but eventually realized the potential benefits to the nation."

"A bold move," remarked Rose.

"He denies it, but I think that adopting me, and then selling it as an opportunity to win allies among the 'wand-wavers' helped secure his place as Director, when grandfather retired. At the funeral, when the challenges should have taken place, no one stepped forward. That hasn't happened in centuries, and it meant that the nation stood behind my father - and me." It was clear from the reverence in his voice that Spellforged loved and respected his adoptive father. Again Harry wondered if that Ragnok had an analogue in his world.

"What bothers me," Spellforged continued, "is hearing how you three speak about the Dursleys." He seemed to be considering his words carefully. "They…. aren't welcoming, are they?"

No one wanted to speak up, until Marigold's quiet voice broke the silence. "I'd rather not discuss that now," she said, and in saying nothing, she said _everything_.

"Yeah, that's kind of what I figured." replied Spellforged. "I wish I could help."

"Me too." Harry heard, almost as a whisper, and realized that it had been Rose.

"So," the other Harry said. "Harry, your Dad lived, and your godmother helped out. Spellforged, did you have godparents who should have taken you?"

"Sort of. Madam Bones is my godmother as well, but she is also a high Ministry official - so there was no chance that the Nation would hand me over to her. I had been adopted by a goblin, so legally I was a citizen of the Goblin Nation - it would have been like handing the son of a goblin over. No one was willing to set that precedent. And the muggle arrangement was perfectly legal as well, so the Ministry had to accept it."

"What about your godfather?"

Spellforged's voice grew cold again. "My godfather is the one who betrayed us in 1981. Our house in Godric's Hollow was under the Fidelius - which means that only one person can reveal its location. My godfather was the secret keeper, and as soon as he could, the coward ran straight to Voldemort." Spellforged was speaking quietly, but there was death in every word. Harry could hear the anger, and it almost seemed as if he could feel the pain and rage across the link, it was that powerful.

"If they ever let him out of Azkaban, the goblins will drag him to the dueling pit, where I will kill him myself. Sirius Black is a dead man, he just doesn't know it yet."

Before he could even think about it, Harry spoke. "You mean Peter Pettigrew, right?"

"What?"

Harry took a deep breath. "This might be another thing that changes between our worlds. But Spellforged, I swear to you this is the truth. Uncle Sirius talked Dad into switching secret keepers. They told everyone that he was it, but when they cast the fidelius, they used Peter Pettigrew as the secret keeper." He sighed. "When Sirius got to the house, he woke Dad up. Dad was an auror, he knew that I had survived, but also that I had been Voldemort's target. So before escaping with me, Dad and Padfoot went to secure the area. And that's when they found wormtail, outside in the bushes, waiting for his master. The bastard died in our front yard at the end of my father's wand, his dark mark visible for all to see. Sirius was not the traitor, at least not in our world."

"Harry…" Marigold said. "Both of you. We don't know how things changed. Maybe he was the traitor in that world."

"Or maybe he framed Pettigrew and got away with the crime." Spellforged spat, bitterly.

"Harry," said Rose. "Does your uncle still have his magic?"

"Of course he does." replied Harry. _Why would he lose his magic?_

"And he's your sworn godfather, right?"

"Yes. Mom liked doing the old ceremony, with the magical oath and everything… oh."

"Oh?" asked Spellforged.

"If your Sirius still had his magic after the attack, then he hadn't violated his oath as your godfather." Rose wasn't sure if this would calm them down or not, but they were past that point now. She had to cut the knot, for no other solution presented itself. "When did they arrest him?"

For once, Spellforged did not know where she was going with this. "The next day, in muggle London. He had chased Pettigrew, and caught up with him. There was an explosion, and 12 muggles died."

"Chased him? Like, on foot?" the other Harry asked.

"No, they were…. **/Groznak./** " He breathed a heavy sigh. Father was going to be _angry_. "They were apparating."

Rose completed his thought. "...And you can't apparate without magic. His oath was intact."

"I'm sorry," said other Harry. "What oath?"

"Old families, when they choose godparents, will make them swear an oath to protect the child. Traditionally, that oath was made on one's own magic." Rose explained. "If you break the oath, then you break your promise to magic - which means that you lose the ability to _use_ your magic."

"Sirius had his magic, _after_ the attack. His oath was fine. Your Sirius Black didn't betray you."

Her words went unanswered, the group digesting what they had learned. Then Harry spoke up, and again his statement summed up the entire conversation.

"If our Siriuses didn't betray us, what about yours?"

All five of them had trouble sleeping that night.

 **AN: I can't really see canon Harry thinking of James-lived Harry as "Heir Potter", even if that's how I keep them straight in my notes. Rose, who made wizarding culture and practices her study the instant the hat said SLYTHERIN? (And who has the pureblooded heiress Daphne Greengrass as a coach?) Sure. Spellforged, who grew up in the wizarding world, via his adoptive mother? Maybe. James-lived Harry? Unlikely, even if the others _are_ Heir or Heiress Potter - because _he_ is the only one of the five who actually thinks of himself as the Potter Heir. Canon Harry? Nyet. So for this Harry, he'd probably think of the Canon Harry as "Other Harry" - and vice versa. Perhaps after the quidditch match they'll be Chaser Harry and Seeker Harry?**

 **Yes, Marigold _will_ eventually talk Spellforged into teaching the group how to swear in the Goblin tongue. Cat's out of the bag, kids. **

**Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	6. Brother from Another Mother

The following Saturday found Marigold Potter sitting at the breakfast table, sipping her tea and trying to wake herself up. It had been a late night, as seemed to be the trend these days, and she had gotten very little sleep. It wasn't just the length of the discussion that kept her awake, but the topic - for most of the evening, the five had discussed their godparents.

And there they came to another stark reminder that their worlds, though similar, held important differences.

Sirius Black was the sworn godfather of both Spellforged and Chaser Potter, as Marigold had taken to calling him. Spellforged was confident that Sirius would be godfather for the others as well, if only because he could not think of any other candidates from among the wizards he knew to be friends with their parents. Rose pointed out that their parents' circle of friends might differ from world to world as well, and Spellforged had no answer to that.

Chaser Potter offered to ask his father about that choice, when he had an opportunity. Maybe another name would surface. "You might even ask Sirius himself," Rose had suggested. Seeker Potter mentioned that Hagrid had invited him to tea, and knew their parents when they were students - maybe he would know who his godfather might have been.

When the discussion turned to godmothers, the answers were even less clear. Madam Amelia Bones was the godmother to Spellforged and Chaser Potter, but Rose had learned that _her_ godmother had almost been Lady Selena Greengrass, mother of Daphne Greengrass. This surprised the gryffindors among them, and it had apparently surprised Rose as well. For her part, Rose did not get into much detail about how she had found this information, except to say that her version of Daphne had helped Rose subdue the possessed defense professor (and, therefore, Voldemort), and was one of her closest friends in her house. That Daphne was one of Rose's only friends in Slytherin went unmentioned.

 _Maybe the hat knew she would need that support,_ wondered Marigold. _Both from Daphne and from her mother_.

Rose had noted that Lady Greengrass had been a Ravenclaw, and had become friends with their mother while studying Ancient Runes in their later years at Hogwarts. She was reasonably certain that they could trust her, at least in her world - after all, according to Daphne, their mothers had been close. Rose had asked Daphne if her mother had a picture from their school days, in hopes that they could identify others from Lily's circle of friends.

 _Knowing who to trust will be important,_ thought Marigold, as she watched the great hall begin to fill. _And maybe that'll be the hardest part, at least for Rose and I._ The group had agreed, trusted allies would be vital when the link began to act.

Spellforged had worried himself sick over the idea that three of the others were still living with the Dursleys. Apparently, when he was found, the muggle healers had assumed that his injuries were all related to the explosion that had leveled the house and killed his guardians. But then they noticed the malnutrition, the bruises, the evidence that he had been shaken. A picture began to emerge of a less-than-loving home. And some of the comments from Rose, Marigold, and Seeker Harry had cause Spellforged to wonder if he had gotten lucky. Put simply, Spellforged would feel alot better about their safety if they found a way to get permanently away from Privet Drive. No one could disagree with that.

Finding a godparent, whether the (hopefully) innocent Sirius Black or someone else, became priority one.

Marigold watched the Hufflepuff table as Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott walked in for their breakfast. _What if her Aunt is my godmother, like she is with Harry?_ Another 'puff leaned over to Susan and said something, which got laughs from the redhead and her housemates. _It would have been nice growing up with a sister,_ she thought.

Her attention was drawn to Neville Longbottom, who sat down across the table from her and partially blocked her view. He nodded in greeting, his typical shyness precluding anything more. Marigold smiled at him in return, her thoughts still on the identity of her godparents. She looked from Susan to Neville and back, taking a bite of her toast as she thought. Neville busied himself with some eggs, and seemed to be preparing himself for another quiet breakfast.

"Hey Neville, can I ask you a question?"

Neville looked up, surprised. "Um, sure Marigold, what can I do for you?" She heard a very slight emphasis on the "I" there, as if he was surprised not that she had a question, but that she had chosen to ask _him_.

"I know you grew up in the wizarding world," she began, "so maybe you can help me. I know the muggles have godparents, but someone said that magical families do too. Is that a thing?" She had tried to keep the question light and informal, not wanting to betray her eagerness for an answer.

Neville blinked at her, his face even more surprised than before. "Do you not, I mean…" He paused, taking a breath. "Yes, we have godparents. Usually it's a close friend of the parents, sometimes an uncle or another family member."

Marigold nodded. "And is it just a religious thing, like the muggles, or do they do anything?"

Neville shrugged. "I don't know what the muggles do, but for us the godparents are supposed to help raise the kids and guide their magic. Sometimes parents will choose godparents who are strong in areas that they aren't, like two parents who are pants at charms choosing a charms master, for example. But most of the time, it's a more personal choice." He looked at her again, tilting his head, considering. "You don't know, do you?"

She took a sip of her pumpkin juice, before setting the cup down. "Know what?"

Neville's expression was unreadable. "Marigold, your mum was my godmother."

 _Oh._ "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Neville." She gave him a disarming grin, hoping that he relaxed a little. "We might have been brother and sister, if things had gone differently." Then she paused, trying to appear thoughtful. "I wonder who my godmother is."

Neville shook his head. "I wouldn't know. Unless it had been my mum or gran, there wouldn't be a need to tell me."

 _Strike one name off the list, then_ , she thought. "Surely someone can tell me, right? I mean, it'd have to be written down somewhere?"

Another shrug from Neville. "Probably. It would have been mentioned in their wills, if your parents had them - and knowing how old the Potter family is, they would have had to." Neville's face lit up. "Hey, that's an idea - the goblins might know."

Marigold laughed. "I can see it now. ' _Dear Director Ragnok, whenever you get a chance, could you look up my godparents? No one ever told me who they are. Thanks! Love and kisses, Marigold Potter_.' Can you imagine?" Neville's look of shock turned to a broad grin, before the punchline broke him into a laughing fit. That got Marigold laughing as well, drawing looks from the other lions.

"Merlin," he said, calming down. "I'd love to see the response that gets from the Director of Gringott's. 'Love and kisses,' listen to you."

"I happen to know quite a lot about goblin culture," Marigold replied, trying to sound as serious as possible. "Though perhaps my coach was having me on with some of the details."

Neville chuckled. "Maybe so."

They continued to chat for the rest of breakfast. As they rose to head back to the common room, Marigold put a hand on Neville's shoulder.

"Seriously, all kidding aside - thank you."

Neville seemed surprised by the contact, and the sentiment. "I didn't do anything, Marigold."

"Nev, I've been in the wizarding world for just over three months. No one ever explained to me about my family, or about the fact that there might be some adult out there who's supposed to be helping me. You did." She grinned, giving him a half bow. "I owe you one, Heir Longbottom."

Neville returned the bow, almost on reflex - as his gran had taught him. "I could do no less for House Potter, or for the Heiress Potter."

They resumed their walk back to Gryffindor Tower. Marigold let Neville's last statement sit for a while, before looking over at the Longbottom Heir. "What do you mean, House Potter, exactly?"

Neville's eyebrows raised in surprise, before he remembered her words from breakfast. _No one told her about her family. None of it. Merlin…_ he thought.

"Alright, Marigold, this is going to sound strange, and to most muggleborn witches and wizards, it's one of the ways that our world is 'backwards'. Most families are just families, raising children, making a living, building a home, and so on. Much like muggles do, I imagine." Marigold nodded, saying nothing. "Okay, well there are some families in the wizarding world that trace their lineage back centuries. For those families, things are more complicated."

"How so?"

"Well, for example, your family is the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. Your house, like mine, has a seat on the Wizengamot, which is kind of like the muggle House of Lords. In centuries past, when houses would go to war with each other, you would have houses that traditionally stood together - these were called allied houses." Here, he paused. Neville had been speaking as if reciting a lesson, and he may have been. He wondered how to phrase the next bit, for he knew that it would be the heaviest burden to bear. _If she even chooses to bear it…_

But Marigold beat him to it. "Our houses…. We're allied, aren't we?"

Neville stopped, staring at her. "You knew?"

"Not as such, no." _Spellforged hinted at it, but didn't know if it carried over to me…_ "But when you said House Potter earlier, in the great hall, the way you said it tipped me off. And then you tell me that house alliances are a thing, and it clicked."

Neville looked visibly relieved, and the pair resumed their walk. "For a moment there, I thought you knew about the alliance and were rejecting it. Gran would have been furious."

Marigold laughed. "Like I said, Neville, I'm on my own in the dark, here. Even if I wanted to - and I don't! - I'm not in a position to reject any aid I can get my little hands on." She inclined her head, looking over at him. "Longbottom and Potter, eh?"

Neville grinned, relaxing again. "And Marchbanks, and Bones. There are other houses who have worked with Gran in the Wizengamot, but those four are the closest allies."

Thinking back to Rose's comments the night before, Marigold decided to go fishing. "What about the Greengrasses?"

Neville's eyebrow raised again. "I'm surprised you got any information out of Daphne, she is a true slytherin, gathering information without giving any away. No, her family is neutral, but sometimes Lord Greengrass agrees with Gran on business regulations or similar issues. They're in the import business."

"I got the impression that her mother was friends with mine."

Neville nodded again. "Your mother and mine were both friends with Lady Greengrass. They were some of Professor Flitwick's favorites in charms, as he tells the story. Our mums were the only two lions that could keep up with the 'Claws, or so he said."

"Sounds like I should find an excuse to have tea with Professor Flitwick, then."

"He did know our parents, Marigold. He might be able to tell you more about your godmother." Neville's features clouded, just for a second, and Marigold caught it. He had realized who her godfather had been.

They reached the entrance to the tower, and Marigold paused again. "When you graduate, and get bored with your strange Wizard Parliament or whatever, rest easy - you've got a fine career ahead of you as a Wizarding Culture professor."

Neville chuckled. "Happy to help." They parted as Neville went to his dorm, and Marigold found a quiet corner of the common room. Sitting on a small couch, she closed her eyes.

 _Good morning, Spellforged._ The goblin-raised Ravenclaw was never one to sleep in on the weekend.

 _Good morning Marigold, everything alright?_

 _Fine. I just had a nice talk with Neville Longbottom about godparents and wizarding culture and whatnot._ She couldn't help but chuckle as she thought back to his idea from breakfast. _He suggested that I write to the goblins and ask about who my godparents are._

 _Worth a shot. But more likely than not they'll make you come in for an inheritance test or something similar._ She could almost hear his shrug. _Ask me next year and I could probably do it for you, but I'm not at that level just yet. And don't forget, there's a distance factor as well._

 _A distance factor? Merlin, Spellforged, you almost made me laugh._ She shook her head, smiling. _One other note for the file, though - Neville mentioned that our house is allied with the houses of Longbottom, Bones, and Marchbanks. My Lord Greengrass is a neutral here, but probably persuadable._

 _Good,_ replied Spellforged. _I'll add them to the list._

"Ravenclaws," she muttered. _Tell me you don't have a notebook with five worlds worth of intelligence written down… If someone finds it, they'll put you in a soft room._

 _Give me at least some credit, Marigold_ , Spellforged shot back, amused.

It took her a second. _You wrote it in Goblin, didn't you?_

Hermione Granger looked up from her book to see her friend Marigold sitting in the corner, her eyes closed as if trying to nap, a broad grin on her face as she stifled a laugh.

* * *

Later that day, Gringott's London received a letter.

 _23 November 1991_

 _Accounts Manager Foecleaver_

 _Gringott's London_

 _At your client's request, I have completed the purchase of ownership shares of the Daily Prophet. The shares involved in this purchase constitute 2.5% of the currently available shares in the firm._

 _As we discussed, I expect shares equaling approximately 8% of shares to become available within the coming calendar year, perhaps as soon as the third quarter of 1992. If that is that case, I shall pursue the acquisition of those shares as well, under our original agreement. In the event that my instructions change, please advise me without delay._

 _I will, of course, continue to explore additional avenues for further acquisitions. Once a controlling interest is in hand, we will need your client to attend at least one shareholders meeting if they wish to assert control over the operations of the firm. I can serve as proxy, of course, but we will need the Potter Regent to appear in person to complete that designation, under the board's rules._

 _Please extend my compliments to your Uncle, and thank the Director for giving us this opportunity._

 _I remain your servant,_

 _/s/_

 _Robert Fitzpatrick_

 _Farrow, Kerry, & Fitzpatrick_

 _Solicitors and Advisors_

 _Hogsmeade, UK_

* * *

 ** _A/N: No, we have not met the Potter regent. Interestingly, neither have the five._**

 ** _This feels a bit like a filler chapter, and it is to some degree. I wanted Marigold to feel more comfortable, to start reaching out a bit, with the encouragement of the link. Once she started sassing Neville, the conversation grew from there._**

 ** _One note on oaths: A few readers asked for clarification about the previous chapter. Sirius Black had made an oath to protect his godchild, and to prevent them from coming to harm. Actively betraying the child's location in such a way as to ensure that Voldemort would harm the child would definitely break that oath, costing him his magic. Since he still has magic, he didn't do the betraying. (Chasing Peter was not a breach, nor was handing Harry/Rose/Marigold to Hagrid - the Oath would have seen that as actively seeking out a threat to the child.)_**

 ** _Peter, meanwhile, was only covered by the Fidelius. He had to be able to reveal the location to whomever he wished, because he was the one entrusted to keep the secret. So in this case, his betrayal did not break any oath, as such. (Had the Marauders made an oath of friendship or alliance or to stand together come what may, or whatever, THAT might have been broken by Peter's betrayal. Hell, taking the Dark Mark alone might break such an oath. I've seen that work before, but that's not an angle I plan to explore here.)_**

 ** _Your feedback, as always, is welcome._**


	7. The Spirits of the Season

Rose Potter had barely begun to eat her breakfast when the mail owls started their deliveries. There were more owls in the air than she had expected, and today was not the first day for it. A third year girl had explained the phenomenon - it was the first week of December. Between parents making holiday plans with their children and gifts being ordered via mail owl, there was bound to be an increase in mail.

It had not bothered Rose overmuch. Her Hogwarts letters had been the only owl mail she had ever received. Everyone she would write to was sitting here in the great hall, except for three gryffindors and a ravenclaw - and owls didn't exactly transport mail across parallel universes.

Hedwig's annoyance at being disused was remedied only when Rose offered her to Hermione and Daphne, for their mail. Daphne had her own owl, of course, but send quite a few letters home - mostly to her sister. Hermione only wrote her parents, but reported that they appreciated that she still kept them involved in her life.

Rose had smiled at that, before asking if she had told them about the troll that broke into the school, or about their creepy possessed Defense professor. Hermione simply huffed at that, drawing chuckles from Daphne and Tracey Davis, as well as some of her own housemates.

Ignoring the letters and packages, Rose turned back to her charms text, only to find an older brown owl sitting on the table, staring at her. It offered the letter on its leg, waiting. Rose looked at Tracey, then over at Daphne. Tracey's eyes were wide with surprise, but she said nothing - _perhaps she recognizes the owl?_ Rose thought. Daphne's expression was, as always, unreadable. She merely nodded toward the letter.

Rose took the envelope, looking at the beautifully precise script on its face. _Rose Lillian Potter_ , it read. _Slytherin House_. She did not notice the owl hop down the table to her left, nor did she see her steal a piece of bacon from Daphne's plate before flying away.

Turning the letter over, she saw the wax seal. It was a simple design, a grass-covered hill overlooking what appeared to be ocean waves. A stylized _G_ was set into the hill, off-center. With another glance at Daphne, Rose broke the seal and took out the letter.

 _4 December 1991_

 _Rose Potter  
_ _Slytherin House  
_ _Hogwarts_

 _Heiress Potter,_

 _Congratulations on the imminent completion of your first term at Hogwarts. I hope that you have found the castle to be as much a home to you as I did during my years in Ravenclaw, so long ago. As much as I enjoyed being at Hogwarts, however, sometimes I looked forward to_ _leaving_ _the castle even more. The Yule holidays were such a time._

 _My daughter has written at length about your shared adventures, and her accounts speak well of you. I get the impression from her letters that you have no firm plans for the upcoming holiday. If that is the case, I would like to extend an invitation to spend the holidays with our family at Greengrass Manor. We are accessible via floo, should you need to return to your home at any point during the break, but from Daphne's telling I suspect that will be unnecessary._

 _Your mother was a close friend of mine during our Hogwarts years. She stood with me at my wedding, and helped watch Daphne while I recovered from the birth. She is missed._

 _I would very much like to get to know her daughter._

 _You need only advise Daphne as to your plans; if she brings you with her on the train, then we will happily welcome you._

 _Yours,_

 _Selena Greengrass, the Lady Greengrass_

Rose looked over at Daphne, who was (for once) not disguising the fact that she was watching her read the letter. A smirk played across Rose's features, as she raised an eyebrow. "Adventures?"

Daphne smiled. "I have no idea what you mean, Miss Potter."

Shaking her head, Rose folded the letter neatly and reached for her bag. "Well, she could be referring to the time you and I defeated the Defense professor." She gave Daphne a thoughtful look. "Or it might be the time we hexed Draco so badly he missed an afternoon of classes."

"I heard about that," said Tracey. "Which curse did you use?"

Daphne snorted. Rose turned, grinning. "We didn't. But I did wave my wand at him and mutter an incantation. Then Daphne clapped suddenly and said 'Oh, you got it to work! And colorless, too!' her outburst sold it. Madam Pomfrey took 10 points from him because she thought he was wasting her time just to get out of class, while _he_ was convinced that he had been hit with some sort of wasting curse."

"So what was the incantation?"

Rose looked back at Daphne, who answered. "Bitto Ochiru, I believe." Off Tracey's puzzled look, she smiled again. "It's in Japanese. Roughly translated, it means, hmmm, I believe the translation is 'bits fall off'. We didn't tell Draco that, of course."

Tracey couldn't help laughing, as did several other Slytherins. Draco's terror that afternoon had not gone unnoticed.

* * *

The next evening, Rose joined the rest of the five to discuss their holiday plans. Chaser Potter and Spellforged, both of whom had grown up in loving homes, were shocked to learn that this would be the first real Christmas for the other three. Spellforged's resolve to get them away from the Dursleys got that much stronger, when he learned that.

Rose's invitation to the Greengrasses was a surprise to the group, even though it really wasn't to her. The Slytherin in her was pleased at the opportunity to gain valuable intelligence about their parents from Lady Greengrass. In her heart, though, she was more looking forward to spending time with her only close friend in Slytherin. All of her was thrilled at the prospect of not being at the Dursleys.

Marigold shared that sentiment. Neville had hand delivered a letter for her, to her surprise. It had been an invitation to spend the holidays at the Longbottoms. His grandmother, the formidable Augusta Longbottom, had taken it on herself to continue the education that her grandson had started. Apparently, from Neville's telling, his gran had been upset when he mentioned that Marigold knew little of the wizarding world - and then pleased that Neville had begun to correct her lack. The holidays, she thought, were a time for family - and a perfect opportunity to catch her up on all that she should know as the Heiress to House Potter.

Seeker Harry, while friends with Neville, had not grown close enough to the boy to earn an invite to his home. His closest friend, Ron Weasley, would be staying in the castle with three of his brothers, and so Harry decided to stay as well. His options being the castle or the Dursleys, well, that wasn't much of a choice.

Chaser Harry would spend the holidays at home, likely with Padfoot and the Bones. He planned to get his father to teach him about both his history (to gather information about possible godparents, for the others) and about the wizengamot (to look into possible aid from other houses in the alliance). All agreed that it was way too early to begin mucking about with politics, and for Harry it wasn't on the table anyway - he would not become Lord Potter for a good long while, fates be kind. But for the others, it would be 6 or 7 years and then they'd be head of house.

If the others were jealous that he could learn at his father's side and they could not, they said nothing.

Spellforged, for his part, was ambivalent about the holiday, since Goblins had no winter festival or celebration. He would spend Christmas morning with his adoptive mother and her family before heading home, where it would be just another Wednesday.

His plans for the holiday were mainly focused on laying the groundwork for Operation Padfoot - which, at this point, consisted of figuring out a plausible reason for getting the Black family account manager to dig into the trial of Sirius Black. If the man was indeed innocent, then the conviction might be flawed somehow, and they could exploit that flaw and several goblin treaties to get him out and under veritaserum.

And if not? Well, that was useful information as well. Spellforged, while hopeful, would take no chances.

The five agreed to keep up their Friday evening conferences. But even so, they all agreed that they needed a break, and that the holiday was there for a reason. Marigold wished they could send gifts to each other - which led to Chaser Harry wondering if they might, someday, learn how to rupture space and time in order to do just that.

A prank worthy of the Marauders, he suggested.

* * *

Within 10 minutes of the train's departure, Severus Snape entered his quarters. There were only a few of his snakes remaining in the castle, all of them older students who needed no babying. He would be free to work on his potions in peace.

Something caught the Potions Master's eye, and he turned back toward his desk. There, on top of a stack of parchments yet to be graded, was a bottle of amber liquid.

After waving his wand to check for enchantments, and finding nothing but a trace of house elf magic, Snape lifted the bottle. He immediately scowled at the label.

 _ **Single Malt Scotch**_

 _ **Potter Distillery  
**_ _ **Gloucester, United Kingdom**_

 _ **Matured in Double Casks  
**_ _ **Aged 12 Years**_

"Potter indeed…" he muttered. His eyes went to the card sitting on his desk. It was, to all appearances, a muggle Christmas card. The seal was a stylized _P_. Opening the envelope, Snape found that he was right - it was a muggle card, depicting a snow-covered forest.

 _Best wishes for the coming year. With thanks for a successful term._

 _-P_ _R_

The Potter girl, for all her Slytherin tendencies, was not this subtle. Nor would she know how to obtain muggle scotch at the age of 11, even if it did come from one of her family's businesses. And she would not thank her head of house in this way, for that matter.

 _But if not her, then who?_ He wondered.

Professor Snape would have been even more confused if he knew that Professor McGonnagal, in three other worlds, had received an identical bottle with an identical card. As did a Professor Flitwick, who had taken a young goblin-raised wizard under his wing.

It was, in the end, a very strange beginning to the holidays.


	8. Of Gifts and Gratitude

Until this year, christmas meant very little to Harry Potter. Christmas was for family, after all, and his aunt and uncle and cousin had gone to great lengths to make sure he knew that the term 'family' did _not_ apply to him.

The gift they had sent, a small envelope with 50 pence, was proof of that. Harry gave the gift the consideration it deserved, and chucked it in the fireplace. He was surprised at the bold move, for the Harry Potter who lived in a cupboard under the stairs would not have been brave enough to be so defiant - even when his guardians would never know.

But that Harry was gone, now. Here, now, he knew something had changed. It wasn't the link with his alternates, though that helped, because while they were always with him, they were never _with_ him.

Harry looked around the Gryffindor common room, watching the Weasleys (and a few other students) opening their gifts, laughing and joking around. He smiled, looking down at the small stack of presents in his lap. _People care,_ he thought. It was a revelation - he, Harry Potter, the freak, was actually important to someone. Several someones, in fact. Important enough that they sent christmas gifts.

Hagrid had given him a flute, which he looked forward to learning how to play. Hermione and Neville had both sent Chocolate Frogs, with an extra package of muggle fudge from Hermione's parents. Susan Bones from Hufflepuff had sent a small bag of sugar quills, which looked like muggle lollipops made in the shape of quills. Ron's mother had knitted a sweater, and it was warmer than any piece of clothing he owned.

Almost any, rather, for there had been another package as well. Inside was a winter cloak, warmer than the one he had gotten with his school uniforms, yet lighter. The gryffindor crest was set on the front of the cloak, and the edges had red and gold trim. Inside the package had been a note, and a pamphlet of some sort.

 _Harry,_

 _As you've no doubt learned, Scotland can get a bit chilly. Bundle up._

 _I've also included a few catalogs, if you wish to purchase warmer or more comfortable clothes, or if you wish to buy some small gifts or treats for those who sent gifts to you. The shops can send you pretty much whatever you like, including muggle or magical clothes in your size. The best part? You can order and pay via owl. Just send a letter to Accounts Manager Foecleaver, at Gringott's, and he will let you know how to set that up. He can also answer any other questions you may have, whether about your bank vault, your vault key, or other matters._

 _Foecleaver worked for your father, James, and your grandfather Charlus before him. If you are polite, I imagine he might be willing and eager to share some stories of your family. I've found that sometimes, especially during the holidays, those shared memories can be the most precious gift of all._

 _Happy Christmas, Heir Potter._

The note was unsigned, and the parchment was unmarked, except for the note. The handwriting was crisp and clean, but the identity of his mystery benefactor remained unclear. _Well. Looks like I need to write to the goblins sooner rather than later,_ Harry thought. _Perhaps they would have answers._ He carefully folded the cloak and placed it back in its box, before carrying his gifts up to the dorm. Breakfast would be starting soon.

oOoOoOoOo

Chaser Potter heard his father's voice behind the door. "Come," he said, and with that the door unlocked and allowed him entry.

Lord Potter's study was the only room in Potter Manor that was out of bounds for the Potter Heir. His father joked that it was due to all of the dark tomes that might injure the unsuspecting, but Harry knew that to be less than true. The reality was that James Potter simply liked having a space for himself.

Harry knew the feeling well. Not long after his eighth birthday, when he received his first broomstick, the old storage room at the back of the house had been turned into a Quidditch Den. A rack of broomsticks dominated the long wall, with shelves for polish and cleaning supplies, as well as a workbench for maintenance. The posters decorating the space were a blend of James (Puddlemere and Holyhead) and Harry (Appleby, as well as a replica poster for the 1978 England National Team). The bold Gryffindor pennants hanging from the ceiling honored their shared quidditch heritage. A set of couches in the corner, if seen by a muggle, might have made them think of a "man cave".

But that room, even more so than any other in the manor, was Harry's. It was his sanctuary, just as the Lord's study was a safe place for James.

Harry entered the study, and saw his father reading a letter at his desk. Amelia Bones, Harry's godmother and Susan's aunt, was sitting nearby. Both had mugs of hot chocolate, a tradition in the Potter household dating back to Lily's first christmas with the family.

The warm winter cloak, subject of much discussion during dinner, was hung by the door. Harry walked over to the desk, before taking one of the other chairs. "Dad, Auntie, do you have a minute?"

"Sure, Harry." said James. "How was your walk?"

Harry grinned. "Well, it was less of a walk around the grounds and more of a surprise snowball fight." He looked over at Madam Bones. "Susan was less than pleased, I'm afraid, but she held her own."

Amelia tried very hard to hide her own smirk. "Your Uncle Padfoot, I presume?"

"He may have said something about turning prongslet into a reindeer. Then Susan had him ducking for cover before he could say anything more."

Nodding, Amelia took a sip of her chocolate. "Good."

James lifted his own mug, and the movement drew Harry's eye to the desk. "No ideas, I guess?"

Lord Potter shrugged. "I didn't recognize the handwriting. Your Aunt thinks that whoever sent the cloak used a modified dictaquill to write out the note. There's no magic on it, and none but a warming charm on the cloak, or else you wouldn't have been allowed to wear it." He shook his head. "About the only thing we do know is that this person apparently wants you to speak with Foecleaver, at some point. Which means, at least, that we know it's not him - Foecleaver would have sent an actual letter, or just asked me directly, Merlin knows I'm in the bank often enough."

Harry knew that Seeker Harry had gotten a similar cloak, only his had the Gryffindor crest instead of the Potter one. They had not heard from Spellforged or the girls, as yet - but the same gift, with the same note, was its own clue.

"Dad, do we still have that intent ward up?"

Amelia's eyebrow raised at the question. James was surprised as well. "We do. Anyone or anything that has an intent to harm you or I, or anyone under our protection, will be bounced off the wards and into the sea." He inclined his head. "They aren't teaching wards to first years, are they?"

Harry smiled. "No, dad, they aren't - though I bet Hermione could handle them. She's smarter than everyone in our year, I think. No, I was just thinking that if there's an intent ward up, and the cloak still managed to get delivered, then whoever sent it couldn't mean us harm, right? If they did, their house elf would get bounced when they delivered the gift."

James and Amelia looked at each other, then at Harry. "Son," began James, "What's really on your mind?"

Harry looked down. James tapped his desk, and an elf appeared beside him. He raised his mug to the elf, then nodded at Harry, and the elf nodded. Seconds later, Harry had a mug of hot chocolate pressed into his hands. After another few moments, Amelia began to rise.

"I'll be downstairs, James." She said. Harry looked up at her, his expression unreadable.

"No, Auntie, please. It's not… I mean…" He sighed. "It's halloween, Dad."

Amelia resumed her seat, relieved. "You shouldn't worry, Harry, you did the right thing - and really, how many first years can say they fought a troll?" She smirked. "Just leave that sort of thing for the professionals next time, yes?"

Harry grinned. "Thanks, but that's not what I meant. I've just been thinking about, well, about _that_ halloween."

James sat back in his chair, saying nothing. Amelia did the same, responding with a quiet "oh".

"I mean," continued Harry, "So many things went wrong that night. And so many more could have." He looked his father in the eyes. "What if I had lost you too, Dad? And Padfoot, and Moony… what if I lost everyone? I could have been alone, out in the muggle world, with no idea who I was." He shuddered, not even realizing that he had.

Amelia looked horrified. "We would have taken you in, if your uncle couldn't. You know that."

Harry nodded. "I know it, and I can't thank you enough Auntie. But… well, I had a nightmare the other day and it's stuck with me a bit." He had struggled with how to convey his meaning without revealing too much, and worried that he already had. "I dreamt that I was found by the muggle police, and they took me to the only family they knew about. My mom's sister." This last, he said quietly, for he knew how close he had come to that exact fate. When debris knocked out his father and removed him as a threat, an impatient Voldemort had marched up the stairs to his fate. One killing curse, one additional movement, one spell - and everything could have changed.

The thought brought another shudder to Harry, just as his words had done the same to James.

"You're right, that would have been a nightmare." James remembered the young couple who had attended his wedding, grudgingly sitting in the back and speaking to no one. The idea of them raising Harry, and the results of that sort of childhood did not bear further thought.

"I mean," Harry continued, "Christmas is about family, and I just can't help realizing how good I have it. We got so incredibly lucky that night, dad, even with Mom and everything. Because I know in my heart how much worse it could have been."

Amelia set her mug down on the desk. "You're never alone, Harry." Harry nodded, before giving her a hug. He then walked around the desk to his father, who wrapped him up in a bear hug of his own.

"I love you so much, Harry. And I'm so proud of you."

"I know dad." Harry closed his eyes. "I know."

When father and son parted, Amelia sipped her chocolate again. A laugh from outside drew her eye to the courtyard, where another snowball fight had started again. She snorted, before she could stop herself, when she saw who the newest victim was.

"Harry, you may want to head back downstairs. Apparently, Sirius has recruited my niece into setting an ambush for your uncle Remus."

Harry's face lit up. "Moony!" He looked to his father, who nodded. "Thanks, Dad, thanks Auntie." And with that, he rushed out of the room, stopping only to grab his cloak.

Once the door closed, James and Amelia looked at each other. They didn't need to speak, for their expressions said it all.

Harry's nightmare was not a new one. Both of them had had the same fears, the same worries about the events of that night. And both were thankful beyond words for how lucky they had been.

oOoOoOoOo

That evening, Seeker Harry had found another gift, sitting on his bed. It was a thin, silvery cloak of some sort, with another anonymous note. _So this was my father's?_ He would have to ask Chaser Potter about that when next they spoke. Ron entered the dorm at that point, and asked about the odd gift. Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders, and a shocked Ron told him to look in a mirror.

 _An Invisibility Cloak?_ He grinned. _Now this could be useful._

After leaving the library that night, it did not take long for Harry to find the abandoned classroom. He did not know whether the cloak would protect him from the angry old caretaker or his cat, but tonight was not the night to find out. Instead, he decided to pull up his Gryffindor courage and hide.

The room had been emptied of desks and decorations. The only object he could see was an old mirror. The frame was ornate and ancient, decorated with words.

"Erised…" he muttered. What sort of mirror was this? He stepped forward, removing the cloak.

He saw himself, standing in his school robes, grinning happily. Behind him, he saw a taller version of himself, wearing robes in an older style. On the pocket of the man's sweater, Harry saw a family crest, and he knew without a doubt that the crest was his own.

Which meant…. _Dad?_

A woman stood beside the man. Her red hair came to her shoulders, framing a kind face with brilliant green eyes. Eyes that matched his own. _Mom._

As he watched, more figures stepped forward, as if they walked out of a fog. His twin brother stood beside him, his unruly black hair pulled into a ponytail. The silver ring on his hand answered Harry's question before he could ask. _Chaser Harry._

His eye was drawn to the other boy in school robes. Here, the blue and grey trim and the Ravenclaw crest were the clues he needed to identify Harry Spellforged. He was surprised to see a small silver dagger on the boy's belt, the only hint of the ravenclaw's goblin heritage.

To Chaser Harry's left, Harry saw one of the girls approach. Her long, dark hair was kept in a neat braid, tied with green and silver ribbon. The slytherin robes suited her, he thought - for after having spoken with Rose Potter for these few months, it was crystal clear that she belonged in the house of cunning.

Marigold Potter appeared alongside Spellforged. She had the same kind expression as their mother, he thought, though it was strange to see his father's eyes on a girl who might have been his sister.

 _Who was my sister. Is my sister._ He chuckled to himself. _There is no language to describe whatever we have._

He saw others standing even further back, but the fog still obscured them. Some were tall, some short, but the meaning was clear, for all that.

 _You'll never be alone._

"Never alone," Harry said, softly, to himself.


	9. Of Dinners and Decisions

After the holiday feast, Anna Sullivan was not surprised to find Harry Spellforged in her kitchen, making a start on the dishes. The Sullivans lived in a muggle house, and their dishwasher worked just fine, but today was Christmas Day, and the extended family had nearly used every dish she owned. Harry had offered to help with the cooking, but Anna had politely declined; what little cooking experience the boy had was with Goblin delicacies ill-suited for the holiday.

Dishes, though? He could do dishes. And it would give them a chance to chat.

Anna caught Harry's glance out the back window, and followed his gaze. Her brother Paul and nephew Erik were kicking a football around the backyard, enjoying the day. London, somehow, had escaped the snow that had blanketed the north country, and Erik wanted to break in his new ball. Anna caught Harry's smirk, and raised an eyebrow. He chuckled.

"I was just thinking," he said, handing her a wet plate, "What would father say if I showed up with a crate of footballs for the apprentices? Goblin children playing footy, can you imagine?"

Anna snorted, trying to stifle her laugh. She knew, better than most, exactly how that would go over with the chieftains. But the director, while outwardly acting stern and disapproving toward his son's shenanigans, would secretly find the whole thing hilarious. That dichotomy, as well as Ragnok's willingness to let Harry be Harry, was what made this whole bizarre arrangement work.

If asked, Harry would agree wholeheartedly. In his eyes, Anna Sullivan of the Killarney Sullivans and Ragnok of Clan Ragnok were the best Co-parents _ever_.

Harry still had a smile on his face as he handed over another plate, which Anna began to dry. "You know, next year, he could probably get enough kids together for a pick-up game. And I can think of at least a few of the purebloods who would take to football pretty quickly."

Ana smiled at the thought of her nephew teaching Hogwarts to play football. "It was all quidditch in my day. Maybe a muggle game will spice things up." It was hard to believe that her nephew would be getting his own Hogwarts letter next year.

"Could be." Harry agreed. They worked quietly for a few minutes, though Anna noticed Harry glancing at the backyard with an odd expression on his face.

"Something on your mind, Harry?"

Harry raised an eyebrow of his own, looking over at his adoptive mother. Then he nodded. He wasn't sure how to bring up the topic that had been on his mind, especially given the fact that he knew Anna could sniff out a lie from miles away.

"There's a gryffindor in my year who was raised by muggles. Susan Bones and I were talking with him one afternoon, and he said something about his home life that made us think he was, well, that he was being abused."

Anna knew exactly why this was such a sensitive topic for Harry. She had seen the healer's report on the boy's condition when he had been rescued, all those years ago. And what's more, she knew that Harry knew - Ragnok would not have kept the information from him. "How bad?" she asked.

Harry paused, looking at her. "Bad enough that Susan almost sent an owl to her aunt, bad."

Anna placed the stack of dry plates into the cabinet, considering that statement. "And you're wondering what you can do about it."

Another nod. "But therein lies the problem. Say I report it to Professor McGonagall, and she actually takes steps to have the muggle relatives investigated. What if they don't find enough to remove him? Then the muggles know that he reported them, and the abuse gets even worse."

"But if you say nothing," Anna took up the thread. "Then there is no chance whatsoever of anything changing."

Harry nodded. He didn't choose to mention the fact that he really _couldn't_ say anything, being in another universe, but his alternates certainly could. The weight of that decision would rest with them, however, which worried him.

Anna leaned against the counter, considering the young ravenclaw. Harry was setting to work on the forks and knives, cleaning them quickly and laying them on a towel. "I didn't know you had many friends in Gryffindor." Anna remarked.

 _More than you know,_ thought Harry. "Neville Longbottom and I have spoken a few times. He asked my advice about the other lion, and that's what got Susan and I involved."

"So the… victim, then, is he a friend?"

Harry paused, considering his response. "I think he could be, perhaps." He glanced at his adoptive mother, before returning his attention to the sink. "But his situation isn't sustainable in the long term."

Anna smiled at the phrase, coming as it did from the mouth of an eleven year old. _Of course,_ she mused, _his father's influence shines through._ "I see," she said, thinking. _His father…_ "Harry, what did your father say about all this?"

Harry placed the last knife on the towel, before drying his hands. "I think, if I asked him to intervene, that he would give me a list of reasons as to why he could not. And you know, as well as I, that he'd probably be right. " Harry sighed. "I can't even do much on my own, unless I do it as Heir Potter, rather than Harry Spellforged. And even then I risk doing too much and dragging the nation into a ministry matter."

Anna sighed. "And your friend, if he does get out of that house, does he have a plan B? Someone to take him in?"

Harry nodded, folding the towel. "We're considering working on the godparents, but there are complications there as well. Nothing permanent, we hope." He looked at her. "And we have until summer."

"Alright, then." She said. "If you can't act directly, then sometimes the best thing you can do is gather all of the information you can, all the evidence, and let an adult handle it." She raised a hand at the comment she knew was coming. "Yes, I know a goblin would be an adult by now, but you know why that doesn't apply here, Mr. Spellforged." He closed his mouth, and she continued. "You know that there are two types of authority figures, right? Surely your father taught this lesson?"

Harry smiled. "One will tell you why you can't have what you deserve, and the other will look at every rule and every law until he finds one that will let you get what you need."

"Good. Then all you need to do, somehow, is to make sure that your evidence is undeniable. And then find one of your professors who happens to be the second sort." Anna smiled as she untied the apron she still wore. "Let them settle accounts."

Harry looked thoughtful at that comment, before letting his eyes grow wide. "Accounts…" he muttered. Then a broad grin lit up his face, and he gave Anna a tight hug. "Mum, you're a genius!"

Before she could respond, the back door opened. "Harry, can you come play footy with us? We need to even the teams." Her nephew's voice made clear that it wasn't a request. Harry shared a look with her, and she saw that he knew it as well. Very few people could order Harry Spellforged around, but his cousin Erik was one of them. With a grin Harry went to join the family game out back.

Anna looked at the ravenclaw as he went, her son in all but blood. She had given him a home, in those early days, when he cried out in pain as his wounds healed, as the potions repaired the damage from close to three years of neglect. Ragnok had helped her, and was lavish with assistance - healers, initially, followed later by tutors.

As the years passed, Harry spent more and more time in the caverns below Gringott's, learning at his father's side - but never far from Anna, for she had gone back to her work as a consultant, evaluating the wards of long disused properties and preparing them for use or sale. The job fascinated Harry - he'd be a master warder someday - but it did keep her away for weeks at a time.

They had done their best, and largely succeeded, she thought, at giving Harry the best of both worlds. Taking her mug of coffee, Anna walked out of the kitchen, seeing the pictures on the wall in the next room. Her family, back home in Ireland, alongside Paul and his late wife and a younger Erik. Those were joined by magical photos of her friends from Hufflepuff, so long ago, as well as a photo of Harry standing between herself and Ragnok - one of the few pictures of the famed 'Goblin King' thought to have found its way into the wizarding world. Anna could hear Ragnok's snort of amusement in her mind, at the Goblin King title. There was a reason he favored the 'Director' role, except when ceremony demanded otherwise.

In the center of the wall, in a place of pride, was a photo of James and Lily Potter, holding their infant son. Anna had not known the Potters, having graduated from Hogwarts before their first year. If they were half the people that their son was, then the loss was hers. _I hope you're proud of your son, James and Lily,_ she thought. _I know I am._

oOoOoOoOo

To the residents of the United Kingdom, magical and mundane alike, Christmas Day was a time for feasts, for celebration, and for family. For the clans of the Goblin Nation, it was Wednesday.

 _Just makes my job easier,_ thought Spellforged, as he walked the halls of the senior account managers. On paper, the Goblins cared little for the organization of wizarding society - which houses were ancient, which were noble, which were ancient and most noble, or most ancient and noble, or somewhat ancient and not particularly noble, or what have you. What they did care about, however, was their long-term customers and their financial status.

So it was, then, that the oldest houses in Wizarding Britain were also the customers of Gringott's with the longest-held accounts, the highest balances, and the deepest vaults. And for their account managers, each claimed a goblin of proven integrity and highest seniority.

They were also, frequently, what the muggles would call 'workaholics' - which is part of how they became senior account managers, after all. The light coming from the office in front of Spellforged proved that. Taking a deep breath, Harry looked at the name plate beside the door.

 _The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black  
_ _Steelclaw of Clan Wullfrott  
_ _Senior Account Manager_

Spellforged paused, his hand raised as if to knock. He had not consulted the link about his plan - and hadn't even found the missing piece of the puzzle until his talk with Anna that afternoon. Nor was this a card that his alternates could play, at least not until summer. Getting to Gringott's was a simpler task for him, after all.

The five were nearly certain that Sirius Black was sworn godfather to each and every one of them. If his situation was the same in four worlds, then hopefully the facts that they would learn here could be applied to the other worlds. With luck, Sirius Black would be free, and - eventually - available to take in his wayward godchild. Their search for the godmothers might end first, but Lord Black would be there as an ally at worst, and a home and guardian at best.

Here, he would be an ally, possibly a link to his birth parents - and little else. But that was secondary to Spellforged - this would help his alternates. And the reality was that he had spent years hating the idea of this man, this betrayer - Spellforged had to know the truth.

Harry knocked on the office door. "Enter!" was the shouted reply, and Harry opened the door.

The office was well appointed, as befits a family of House Black's stature. The crest of the house of Black was displayed prominently on one wall. Steelclaw, a wizened goblin older than Spellforged's father, looked up from his ledgers as his visitor entered.

"Ah, young master Spellforged, greetings. May your studies outpace your contemporaries, young sir."

Harry grinned. "Greetings, Steelclaw. May your profits reach you from new direction."

A white eyebrow raised on the goblin's face. "Indeed? It sounds very much as if you know something that I do not." He gestured to the comfortable chairs in front of his desk. "Please."

Harry sat down, keeping his manner as casual as possible. _Bloody hell,_ he thought, _I was less nervous fighting that troll!_

Steelclaw sensed Harry's unease, but said nothing. Instead, he paused. "Before we continue, Harry, let me ask - is it Harry Spellforged that visits me this day, or the Heir Black?"

Harry relaxed a little. "Both, it seems, Steelclaw. I find myself in a bit of a dilemma. Perhaps you can clarify some matters for me?"

Steelclaw nodded. _I was right._ "Of course."

Spellforged launched into his prepared speech, starting the dance. It was as Anna had said - find the one who would work for a way to get what was needed. If he was right, Steelclaw was the one - at least where the Blacks were concerned.

"At Hogwarts, I had occasion to speak with some of the professors and staff who had known my birth parents, either during or after their school days. One of them mentioned that I had been named the Heir to the House of Black by Sirius Black, my godfather and the betrayer of the Potters."

Steelclaw nodded. "And this is true, Spellforged. You were named as Heir shortly after your birth."

"I suppose," continued Spellforged, "that I knew this at some level. I assumed that the designation would lapse, seeing as the Heir to the house was serving a life sentence in Azkaban. But it seems I remain the Heir." Harry looked the goblin in the eye. "So either the Nation has made a grievous error, and holds the wrong wizard as Heir to the House of Black, or…"

"...or Sirius Black remains Lord Apparent." Steelclaw leaned back in his chair. "A conviction should have removed his claim, with magic recognizing the change."

"True. And even though I might have a claim through my grandmother, I wouldn't be the designated heir." Spellforged sighed theatrically. "You see the problem. Magic, for whatever reason, does not consider Sirius Black as a convicted murderer."

Steelclaw considered this, and the reasons why it might be so. None of those reasons were to his liking.

"Add to that this wrinkle, and you find the core of my dilemma. Black's victim in this case, or at least one of the most direct victims, is a son of the Goblin Nation." Spellforged leaned forward. "If he has not yet been convicted, for whatever reason, then he must stand trial - either a new trial to remedy the flaws of the first, or a first trial if they somehow left him to rot without his due process."

"A wizard held without trial? Surely not, there will be records we can look to, to see where the problem lies." Steelclaw said, dismissively. It had been a decade, there would have been a trial. The ministry was incompetent, but even that level of dereliction was unheard of.

"Here's the part that worries me, and where my father will start throwing knives around the room. If we allow a Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble House to stand trial for the attempted murder of a citizen of the Goblin Nation, then we must insist on Goblin justice."

The goblin stared at him, the implications working themselves out in his mind. "This, well, you do know that this will be… explosive, yes?"

Spellforged nodded. "I do."

A grin spread across the goblin's face. "Good. It is in our interests to know who has the rights to the Black name and vaults. A demand for records from the ministry would not be out of bounds."

"So I had hoped, Master Steelclaw." Spellforged relaxed, now - Steelclaw would take the knife and run with it, as his position required. With luck, the Steelclaws that served the house of Black in the other worlds would be as accommodating. Those Steelclaws, at least, would not have the complication of dealing with their boss's son, which might help matters along.

Steelclaw placed a glass in front of him, taking one for himself. Spellforged had not seen him pour the drink. "Would you indulge me, Mr. Spellforged?" Another broad grin displayed the amusement that worked its way into the goblin's voice. "What does the rest of your plan look like?"

Spellforged grinned himself, taking the glass. By the end of the evening, he had come to a decision - this had been, after all, his best Christmas ever.

* * *

 **A/N: For those keeping score - we did not see the gift giving at the Sullivan's, but Spellforged did get his own matching winter cloak, with its proud Ravenclaw crest (and _not_ the crest of Clan Ragnok). The letter was the same as well. I mention it here because it will come up later, and we'll be busy once the holidays end.**

 **Any story with a goblin-raised Harry Potter will be compared to the well-loved Harry Crow, by Robst. Just as my goblins are very different, so too is this particular Harry. The Sullivans are a big part of this, and we will be seeing more of them later on. By the time this is over, someone remind me to post the omake of all the drunken conversations between Anna and Ragnok - quite possibly the oddest set of co-parents in history. I'm having fun writing both.**

 **Thank you again for the reviews and support. Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	10. Of Hearth and Home

Christmas with the Greengrasses had not been what Rose was expecting.

As promised, the girls were met at the platform by Selena Greengrass, who surprised them both by giving her daughter a miss and wrapping a very surprised Rose Potter in a tight hug. Daphne's look of shock softened when she caught Rose's brief flinch at the contact. Only when Rose was thoroughly embarrassed did Daphne's mother turn to give her daughter a proper welcome.

The trio then made their way to the public floo. Daphne went first, stepping into the entrance hall of Greengrass Manor. She had just turned around when Rose Potter came tumbling out of the fireplace, muttering curses in a language Daphne didn't know. Any questions about that were stopped by the laughter from the staircase behind the pair.

This time, it was Daphne who found herself in a hug, to the amusement of Rose. The short brunette had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, before attaching herself to the taller blonde.

Rose smirked. "Ah, this must be the Lady Astoria." The younger girl disengaged herself from her sister, before giving Rose a grin and an exaggerated curtsey.

"Heiress Potter, welcome to Greengrass Manor." Then Astoria gave a deep bow. The Lady Greengrass, having arrived via floo, could no longer contain her chuckle at the scene.

"Daughter, love, I believe that's my line." Astoria rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Could you show Miss Potter to her room, dear? We'll have dinner in about an hour." She made eye contact with Daphne, before inclining her head toward the interior of the home.

"I'll be up in a few minutes, Rose." Daphne patted Astoria on the head, gently. "Whatever this one tells you about me is a lie, I swear it." That earned a laugh from both girls. Then they were walking up the grand staircase, toward the guest rooms, and Daphne was walking toward the sitting room.

She found her mother at the back windows, looking out over the lake. Greengrass Manor, though it sat on several hundred acres of farmland (and the pastures that gave the family its name, centuries before), also sat next to a small lake. It was, Selena thought, the closest she could get to a view of the ocean without being on the coast. And the lake was just large enough to make sunsets an event - the sun on the water was one of her favorite views.

When Daphne entered the sitting room at the back of the house, she found her mother taking in that calming view. She approached her mother, not sure where their discussion would lead. Her mother sighed, but kept her eyes on the waters.

"It's worse than we thought, isn't it?" asked Daphne.

Selena nodded. "When I hugged the girl, I thought she was going to attack me. She was all tension." She shook her head. "How does a child come to be so?" she asked herself.

"Rose grew up with muggles, but won't tell me anything about them. She calls them her relatives, not her family. Never her family." Daphne looked thoughtful. "Pansy asked her if she was going back to them this christmas, and Rose almost hexed her for even suggesting it."

"Nightmares?" asked Selena.

Daphne shrugged. "She's not mentioned any, but the beds in Slytherin all have silencing charms. I do know that she gets up before I do, almost every day."

Selena frowned at this. She was certain that Rose Potter was being abused, wherever she stayed, but that was not an accusation to be thrown around lightly, even where muggles were involved. And whoever was in charge of her in the magical world surely had some reason for placing her there, however obscure. Dumbledore?

Did the Potter Family have a regent? She knew there was a proxy in the Wizengamot, but could barely remember the man's name. Lord Hillyer or some such, she thought. Further, it was unusual for one person to hold both proxy and regency. Madam Bones was one of the rare exceptions, being guardian in fact to her niece Susan, as well as regent for the family, with her ministry post on top of it all. That did not appear to be the case with Rose - whoever was supposed to be looking out for this girl had failed, _badly_.

"It's funny, when I think about it," began Daphne. "I went into school planning to keep myself aloof and neutral, staying out of the house politics. The wrong word, the wrong hint, and suddenly some boy thinks we're betrothed." She sighed. "No thank you. I chose to be unapproachable, rather than misunderstood. I had Tracy, I'd be fine."

Selena smiled at that - her daughter's master plan, to become the Ice Queen. "You and I both know that it wouldn't work past this year. Astoria would hug you and you'd melt."

A soft chuckle. "Probably. But that doesn't matter, because when the girl-who-lives entered the den of snakes, she was doing the exact same bloody thing!" Daphne grinned as she remembered their first night in the dorms. "Day one, Draco tried to push his weight around with her, and she had him flat on his back in the common room before anyone could blink. 'I'm good, thanks.' was all she said to him, before she reached a hand down and hoisted him up. Poor kid stood there dumb while she walked up to the dorm, whistling." Daphne looked at her mother. "Whistling! But it worked, and everyone pretty much left her alone, even the upper years."

Selena considered that, as Daphne sighed. "And to top it all off, she has me studying with a Ravenclaw named Hermione Granger. Instead of Tracy and I, on our own, it's the four of us. It shouldn't work, but it does, somehow, and I can't explain it." She shook her head. "This wasn't at all how I pictured things."

Daphne's mother hugged her, as the pair watched the sun descending on the horizon. Even in winter, the sight was impressive.

"You two are alike in that, I think. Neither of you trust very easily. But when you do, look out." Selena nodded toward the hallway, and the stairs beyond. "I think that if she lets you in, you're in. Of course, you both will punish betrayal mercilessly."

"And where did I get that from, Lady Greengrass?"

Selena laughed. "That might be my fault."

Daphne nodded, grinning. "I know." Then she looked up at her mother. "We're going to help her, right?"

"Of course." Selena hugged her daughter again. "She's family."

oOoOoOoOo

If she had her way, Marigold Potter would never leave Longbottom Hall.

The first day had been awkward, and her tumbling entrance from the floo helped not at all. But Madam Augusta Longbottom, or 'Gran' as she preferred, had been kind and welcoming. Marigold had not been sure what to expect, but not being in trouble for the embarrassing failure was a relief.

In the back of her mind, she had heard her uncle's voice decrying the freakishness of a fireplace used for travel.

Neville had shown her to a bedroom larger than any she had ever seen - certainly larger than the dorm in Gryffindor Tower, and that room had to fit half a dozen witches. Seeing the bed, Marigold stretched out her arms and collapsed onto the softest surface she had ever known, earning a chuckle from Neville (who was still holding her trunk and standing in the doorway). That chuckle almost proved expensive, when Marigold threatened to hex him for his cheek.

Once the Longbottom heir had made his retreat, Marigold smiled. Already, Neville had started to relax a little - her being invited for the holidays was evidence of that. The Neville from the train would never have been brave enough to laugh at her within her hearing.

It was three days before Augusta managed to coax enough details out of Marigold to figure out where she lived - and how that had gone for her. The conversation had begun when Stewie, the family's house elf, had complained that 'Miss Potterses was doing elve's works'. Augusta found the girl in the hall's kitchen, cooking a full english breakfast.

The aroma quickly drew Neville from his room, and the three of them had what turned out to be their best breakfast of the holiday. Stewie put his foot down, though, when Marigold tried to do the dishes as well, and got his way when Augusta backed him up. Neville went to tend his greenhouse, giving the ladies a chance to talk.

Augusta asked Marigold why she had cooked breakfast. Her answer of "I wanted to thank you for letting me stay here." was less than satisfactory. Before long, it came out that cooking breakfast (and dinner) was the bare minimum that had been expected of her when she lived in her nominal 'home'.

Then Augusta learned about the cupboard. It had been decades since she had found herself doing accidental magic, so the teacup shattering on the counter was a surprise. The noise calmed her down, which was fortunate as her outburst had started to worry Marigold.

"You aren't in trouble, my dear. Your 'relatives', though, that's another story."

Marigold's eyes grew wide in terror. "If they find out I told anyone…"

"They won't." Augusta leaned forward, taking Marigold's hand. "And if I have my way, you won't have to go back there."

Marigold sighed. Something Spellforged had said came to mind, just then, and she decided to go with it. "Well, my sworn godfather is in Azkaban, so he's out as a guardian. Do I have a godmother, I wonder?"

Augusta just blinked for a moment, processing that statement. _Sworn godfather?_ But it was the second part that caught her full attention - and that's when Marigold saw a grin cross the face of Madam Augusta Longbottom.

"Marigold, dear, your godmother is a woman named Amelia Bones." Marigold's eyebrows raised in surprise. "You may know her niece, Susan Bones, a friend of Neville's in your year. I think you'll want to meet with Amelia before the holiday is over."

"You see, Amelia Bones is the director of Magical Law Enforcement. The people who investigate things like, oh, perhaps child abuse?" Augusta got no further, for just then a red-headed witch had started hugging her.

oOoOoOoOo

 _Plip Plip Plip Plip PLOP._ The stone gave Rose a good four skips before sinking into the lake. _Not bad_. The footsteps approaching the dock told her that she had a visitor, which did not surprise her given the circumstances.

Sneaking out of the Christmas Day festivities would not have gone unnoticed for long.

It was not Daphne who came to retrieve her, as she had suspected it might be. Instead, it was Astoria Greengrass who sat next to her on the bench, overlooking an old Muggle-style boat dock at the edge of the lake.

The brunette said nothing, only watching as Rose tossed another stone into the lake. _Plip Plip PLOP._

"How'd you make that work?" Tori asked. "That's some impressive charms work, or so my mother would say."

Rose smiled, though it was somewhat strained by the events of the day. "No charms, Miss Greengrass. You just get a flat stone, like so," Rose held up one of the stones sitting in a pile on the bench. "And then you throw it with a little spin, like this." _Plip Plip PLOP._

Astoria took another one of the rocks, looking at it closely. _PLONK._

Rose chuckled. "Spin it with your finger, like this, so that it's spinning flat, that way it bounces off the water. See?" _Plip Plip Plip PLOP_

The younger girl chose the flattest stone she could find in the pile, before concentrating on the still water. _Plip PLOP_. Rose smiled at the way Astoria's face lit up. "See? Told you."

The girls skipped several more stones, Astoria getting all the way to three skips. Then they sat and watched the water for a while. Both girls wore their new winter cloaks - Tori's was a gift from the Davis family, while Rose's green-trimmed cloak came with an unsigned note. _Perhaps the boys can help me figure it out_ , she thought.

"So," began Astoria. "How was Christmas?"

Rose looked at her, not sure what she was asking. "It was lovely, but you knew that."

"Uh huh." replied the younger girl. "If it was so great, why are you out here then?" When she got no reply, Tori continued. "And why is your trunk packed?" Tori let just the right amount of hurt filter into her voice, as she finished. "I thought you liked us?"

Rose's eyebrow raised, as she looked at Astoria. "You've all been wonderful, Tori. I can honestly say this has been the best week of my life, hands down." _Plip Plip Plip PLOP._

"Psssssh." Snorted Astoria. "I grew up with Daphne Greengrass, Miss Potter. I know evasive when I hear it. Quit speaking Slytherin and tell me what is what."

Rose turned and looked at her friend's sister, and saw the defiant look on the girl's face. It was as if she was daring Rose to lie. And after the past week, Rose was certain that this future Slytherin would know it if she did try to talk her way out of… whatever this was. She sighed.

"Tori," she began. "There's not… look, you and Daph and your mom and dad have all been great, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Astoria stared at her, waiting.

"I mean… Tori, no one is ever as kind as you all have been. Not without expecting something." Another sigh. "Not to me, anyway."

Rose was not sure what response she expected from the ten-year-old younger sister of her closest friend. She certainly did not expect what she got.

"Horseshit." Off Rose's stunned expression, Astoria continued. "The Greengrasses are not in the habit of picking up strays, Heiress Potter." She smiled, but kept the annoyed expression in her eyes as best she could - a mixed result. Rose could tell she was trying to be stern.

"Your mother was friends with my mother, and that in and of itself would be enough to invite you over." She looked Rose in the eye, the humor gone. "But the truth is that you had no reason to befriend my sister, and Merlin knows she would have given you none. And you did anyway."

"And then, not long after that, you and Daph went and stunned a professor in front of the entire school, and found out that the old bastard was possessed." She tilted her head, starting to smile at Rose's stunned expression. She tossed another stone into the lake. _Plip Plip PLOP._ "You can make stones walk on water, without magic. You curse in Goblin. You pranked our elves with a danish. And you're more of a smartass than I am."

Astoria stood, pulling her cloak tighter around her - the warming charms were barely enough for this cold weather, but they worked.

"You owe us nothing, Rose Potter. You're already family, you just don't know it yet." With that, she turned toward the house. "You're not alone, you know."

Rose stood as well. "So it would seem."

Astoria nodded. "Told you. Now come on, Mom wants to talk to us." And with that, the girls walked back to the manor.

The Greengrass family was still entertaining. Tracy Davis and her parents had come over for Christmas dinner, as had Daphne's grandmother. Astoria walked over to Selena, giving her a hug. Daphne and Tracy saw her walk in, then looked over at Rose - Daphne's eyebrow raised in inquiry.

Rose shook her head gently - _Later_ \- before hanging her new cloak inside the door. Then she walked over to her friends, a weight having lifted from her shoulders.

 _Tori may be right,_ she thought. For the first time in her memory, Rose Potter felt at home.


	11. Goblin Justice

As soon as he saw Steelclaw in his father's private office, Harry Spellforged knew that he was in trouble. The presence of Cuthbert Mockridge, the current Liason to the Goblin Nation, told him just how badly he had underestimated the Black family Accounts Manager.

"Ah, Harry, come in, come in." Ragnok said, amiably. _OK, Now I'm worried,_ thought Harry as he entered.

The three were sitting near the hearth, sipping their drinks and speaking quietly. The office would not have been out of place as a Lord's study in an old manor house, with its wood paneling and over-full bookshelves. This was the Director's working office, where he handled paperwork and correspondence and simpler matters - and, frequently, where he fielded questions from his adopted son on any number of topics. Harry had fond memories of this room, which left him ill-prepared for this meeting.

Steelclaw handled the introductions, as was proper for the junior goblin official in the room. "Mister Spellforged, may I present the honourable Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office of the Ministry of Magic. Mister Mockridge, this is Harry Spellforged, of the Clan Ragnok, Heir to the House of Potter."

Harry shook the man's hand. "Greetings, sir. Pleasure to meet you."

Mockridge smiled pleasantly at him, and Harry got the impression that the smile had been precisely calculated ahead of time - just friendly enough to greet the son of a foreign head of state, then dial it back because that son is a student, but add 10% for the boy-who-lived.

 _No wonder the man was in the Liaison office,_ Harry thought. _He'd fit right in around here._

"Steelclaw tells me that we've stirred up a hornet's nest at the Ministry, Harry." Ragnok began. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Ragnok wasn't angry - far from it, he was impressed that Harry had caused this much trouble with a single meeting lasting less than fifteen minutes. What surprised him was Steelclaw's tenacity in defending his client's assets.

Rather than go through channels at the DMLE, sifting through records and hunting for parchment, Steelclaw invited the Goblin Liaison to his office for tea. Once Mockridge found out what they were looking for, and who the victim was, he got his office to handle the inquiry.

"I wanted to know where I stood, Father. I did not know it would cause trouble." Spellforged could say little else. He had not _known_ about the trouble this would cause, but his hopes were another matter.

Ragnok nodded. "I know it, Harry, but trouble it is nonetheless. We do have our answer, though, but it brings with it more questions." He looked over to Mockridge.

"Apparently," the liaison began, "Sirius Black remains the Lord Apparent because he was never convicted. And the reason he was never convicted, Mister Spellforged, is because he never received a trial."

Spellforged blinked at the man, digesting that information. _No trial?_

Rose's voice filtered into his mind - his emotions must have let the thought filter into the link. _Spellforged? What happened?_

 _Not much, really. Just learned that my Sirius never went to trial._ Internally, Spellforged sighed. _This changes everything._

 _No doubt._ He could tell she was troubled by the revelation. _Keep us posted, we'll discuss this tonight?_

 _Of course,_ he agreed, closing the link again.

When Spellforged refocused himself on the room, he saw that Steelclaw and Mockridge were talking over their options. Ragnok, meanwhile, was watching him with narrowed eyes. _I'll have to tell him about the link, someday._

Mockridge was taking a hard line. "The Wizengamot will not hand over the pureblooded Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble House for an execution in the dueling pits. Even for a murderer."

"He attacked one of our own." Steelclaw replied. "That he was adopted years later is irrelevant. If a wizard murdered a goblin, we would demand justice." He leaned forward, looking the liaison in the eye. "And we would get it."

Mockridge was not to be intimidated - nor did he think Steelclaw was trying to be intimidating. He knew how zealous the goblins could be in their pursuit of justice, as they saw it. _Any way this goes, Black's a dead man,_ he thought.

"So," interjected Ragnok. "Either we leave Black to the tender mercies of the Wizengamot, who will probably see him kissed rather than tried, or we demand that he be handed over." He looked at Harry, as if to prompt him. "I like neither option, to be honest."

Harry shrugged. "Do both, then." Off Mockridge's shocked look, he explained. "Demand that the Wizengamot conduct the trial, under their rules and with their procedures. Insist on Veritaserum. Agree that once the guilty verdict is in, you'll take him into custody and dispense proper justice." He smiled. "If I were older, I'd sit behind the accused in the visitor's gallery and sharpen a knife during the trial."

Mockridge paled. "They'd hate that."

Harry laughed. "Yes, I believe they would. A goblin might do such a thing. Harry Spellforged would do such a thing. But the Heir Potter, who may have to sit on the council with these same witches and wizards? No, that would be a bit too much." He looked to his father, who was nodding approvingly. "I believe the Boy-who-lived should attend the trial on behalf of the victims, don't you?"

"I will have to argue on behalf of the Nation," replied Mockridge. "The treaties do not allow goblins on the floor of the Wizengamot without a vote."

"Ah, but Harry holds a dual citizenship, Mister Mockridge." Ragnok's eyes showed his amusement at the situation. "It was the Wizengamot's own vote that allowed it, when they ratified his adoption."

Steelclaw looked to Harry. "As I said, young sir - explosive." Harry could only nod in reply, before looking to Mockridge.

"If I do speak, as a victim, I have one additional request." When he explained his plan, all three readily agreed.

oOoOoOoOo

"Chief Warlock, I have one additional item of business to bring before the Wizengamot."

The January meeting of the Wizengamot had moved through the planned agenda at a brisk pace, and the members were beginning to gather their papers in preparation for the meeting's adjournment. One more item from the Goblin Liaison office would not be a problem. Albus Dumbledore nodded to the Liaison, his expression taking its usual kindly mein.

"Mister Mockridge, the floor is yours."

Cuthbert Mockridge rose from his seat among the undersecretaries and department heads, adjusting his robes as he stood. He had always thought of himself as more of an ambassador than a ministry official, and Ragnok and Spellforged's plan placed him firmly in that role. Today, instead of speaking on behalf of the ministry to the Goblin Nation, he would be speaking for them.

In his mind, it was a distinction without a difference. Though a Ravenclaw in his school days, he was Slytherin enough to realize how valuable a bridge could be when it was the only bridge that crossed the river. And a good bridge let traffic flow in both directions. As long as the plan worked, of course.

Mockridge very carefully avoided looking at the hooded figure of Harry Spellforged, sitting in the visitor's gallery next to a glamoured member of the Auror corps - who, much to Harry's disappointment, had ensured that his traditional Goblin knife had not been brought to the Ministry.

"Chief Warlock, Minister Fudge, Members of the Wizengamot. Today it is my sad duty to ask this body to convene an emergency trial." The whispers began with that, as members tried to divine just what was going on. Mockridge let the mood grow before continuing. "A wizard has betrayed one of the Goblin Nation, causing a child's mother and father to be slain, bringing ruin and pain to the child's life and home." He looked at the membership, fighting the urge to smile when he saw that no one understood, yet, of whom he spoke.

Almost no one. Only one wizard, a younger man sitting among the Ancient houses, was smiling. As their eyes met, the man nodded in approval. _Who is that?_ Mockridge wondered.

"Once the Goblins became aware of the situation, they reached out to Madam Amelia Bones, in her capacity as Director of the DMLE, only to learn that the alleged betrayer was already in the custody of the Ministry of Magic." This generated an even louder rumbling from the members. "As the man has yet to be tried for his crimes against this young Goblin and his family, the Goblin Nation itself, and specifically Director Ragnok of the Clan Ragnok, demand that this wizard be given over to Goblin Justice."

Pandemonium. It took Madam Bones and Dumbledore together to restore order.

"Ragnok acknowledges, however, that giving a wizard to Goblin custody is not to be done lightly. He has spoken with the victim, and the two propose a compromise." Mockridge scanned the room again. "The Goblin Nation asks that you, the Wizengamot of Wizarding Britain, conduct the trial under your own rules. They demand the use of veritaserum, or such other wizarding magics as may be appropriate, to determine the truth of the matter. And if this coward is found guilty?" Mockridge let his anger come to the surface as he spat the words. His anger was for the accused, though, rather than against him, but they didn't know that, did they?

"If you find the coward guilty, then - and only then - do the Goblins demand the right to punish his offences." Mockridge paused. "The veil, in the eyes of the Goblin Nation, is far too quick and painless for their tastes." He let a sneer cross his features. "This man is believed to have destroyed an entire family. Would we, the Ministry of Magic, allow such a man to escape justice?"

He looked squarely at Minister Fudge. "So requests Ragnok, of the Clan Ragnok." He glanced up at Dumbledore's podium, and saw the Chief Warlock busily trying to work out who was about to go on trial. He had not made the connection. Mockridge looked back to Fudge. "Minister, in my official capacity as the Goblin Liaison, I must formally recommend that the Wizengamot grant the request of the Director."

Fudge stood, waving a hand to quiet the members. "Madam Bones?" Mockridge could hear the uncertainty in his voice - this was a play for time.

Amelia Bones was already standing, and had been since a trial had been mentioned on the floor. "Minister, the Goblin Liaison's account is accurate." More rumblings. "We have an accused criminal in custody, but have no record of a trial. The victim is indeed a citizen of the Goblin Nation. The other facts listed in the Director's statement are accurate, as far as we can tell. We have the accused in an antechamber, awaiting the approval of the membership." She looked to Mockridge. "And we have veritaserum on hand. Just in case." He nodded to her in thanks - this would not have gone anywhere without her cooperation.

Fudge shot the briefest of glances to his left. Mockridge followed his gaze, and saw an expressionless Lucius Malfoy looking back. There would be no direction coming from the darker families today.

"Chief Warlock!" A voice called. Mockridge saw the young wizard from earlier rise.

Dumbledore looked at the wizard. "Lord Hillyer is recognized."

The Lord nodded in acknowledgement. "Chief Warlock, I thank the Goblin Liaison for bringing this matter before us today, and move that we accept the recommendation of Director Ragnok without amendment, and without delay."

Before the members could work themselves up at the motion, another wizard rose. "House Greengrass seconds the motion, Chief Warlock." said Daniel Greengrass. Mockridge noticed Lord Hillyer nod in thanks to Lord Greengrass.

"Madam Bones," said Minister Fudge, raising his voice over the growing noise from the members. "What is the name of the accused?"

Before the Director of the DMLE could respond, Lord Hillyer leaned forward, his hands on the desk in front of his seat. "Minister Fudge!" He nearly shouted, and the Minister seemed to cower slightly. "Do you mean to tell this body that the identity of the accused matters here? The man could be Lord Merlin of House Emrys, if you like, and I would _still_ demand that he answer the charges before him." He stabbed a gloved finger at the Minister, and Fudge cringed as if the hand held a wand. Hillyer continued, angrily. "A boy has been orphaned, Minister! I don't give a good goddamn _who_ did the orphaning. I just want them to answer to the law."

Another cannon blast from Dumbledore's wand brought order once more. He turned to Lord Hillyer. "The members will remember to obey the rules of decorum, if they wish to continue to speak, are we agreed?" He did not turn a disapproving glare at the young Lord, for who could argue against justice here? But such outbursts distracted from the main issue. Hillyer, for his part, bowed his head slightly in agreement.

"Very well, then," continued Dumbledore. "We have a motion. Will the members signal their votes, please?" Wands were placed at the corner of each seat's desk, and magic tallied the votes. "The ayes have it, the motion is carried. Madam Bones, please bring forth the accused."

The great doors opened, admitting four aurors. Between them, shambling forward, his chains rattling in the now quiet chamber, was Sirius Black. His ragged, prison-issued robes were frayed and caked in filth, but his eyes were alert. _Madam Bones has done her part, then_ , thought Mockridge, as a chair was prepared for the accused. _He's been out long enough to be lucid. Good._

Dumbledore was shocked at the identity of the criminal, but then he made the connection. He turned to Lord Hillyer, who was watching the procession with uncharacteristic intensity, or so Dumbledore thought. On any other day, Dumbledore would have found Lord Hillyer to be quiet and unassuming - today, he had been neither.

Lord Hillyer looked up as Dumbledore spoke, his voice quiet and understanding. "This crime can have but one victim, Joseph. Are you sure about this?"

Hillyer's eyes went back to Sirius, as he was secured to the chair. "Albus, I've never been more sure." He spoke quietly, but with conviction that once more surprised the Chief Warlock.

Madam Bones convened the court proceedings, dispensing with the preliminaries rapidly. Finally, she addressed the accused.

"Sirius Black, you stand accused of the betrayal of House Potter, said betrayal leading to the deaths of the Lord and Lady of that house, and the attempted murder of the Heir and last scion of that house." She leaned forward at her podium. "If convicted by this court, you will be remanded to the custody of the Goblin Nation, where you will face justice under their laws. Do you understand?"

Sirius looked her in the eye. "Why the goblins?"

"One of your victims is a citizen of the Goblin Nation."

The Wizengamot watched as Sirius Black nodded. "I deny the charges." he said, simply. Shouts of anger fell quiet under the steely gaze of Madam Bones, who turned back to the accused.

"Do you plead not guilty, then?"

"That's what I said, is it not?" Sirius replied. Amelia nodded, and the scribe made a notation in the record.

"The Director of the Goblin Nation has demanded that you be given veritaserum." It was not a request, but Sirius' chuckle was answer enough.

"Finally!" was his reply, surprising many - but not all. Mockridge caught Lord Hillyer nodding again, as if he had expected that. Aurors came forward to administer the truth potion, and Madam Bones took up the questioning.

After the innocuous questions about his name, his age, his profession, and so on, Madam Bones got to the meat of the accusations.

"Did you betray the Potters?"

"No. I swore an oath to protect Harry Potter at all costs."

"What oath?"

"It was the Godfather's Oath, bound by Lily Potter."

"Were you the secret keeper under _Fidelius_ for the Potters when they went into hiding?"

"Yes," and here, amidst a gasp from the members, Mockridge and Harry Spellforged both felt their hearts nearly stop dead, before Sirius continued. "I was the secret keeper at Potter Manor."

Amelia nodded. "And when the _Fidelius_ was cast at the cottage in Godric's Hollow?"

"No."

"Why did you switch secret keepers?"

"It was known that I was their secret keeper, so we let it be known that I remained so when they moved to Godric's Hollow. In this, I served as a decoy. If the Death Eaters learned that I was the secret keeper, we would know that we had been betrayed, while the true secret keeper would remain safe."

Amelia took a deep breath. "And who actually was the secret keeper under _Fidelius_ at Godric's Hollow?"

"Peter Pettigrew." More gasps of shock from the members, enough to almost drown out the next question.

"Was Peter Pettigrew a Death Eater?"

"I don't know. But seeing as he was secret keeper, he had to be the one to betray the Potters. No one else could have done so."

Amelia closed her notebook, as she asked the final question. "Are you now, or have you ever been, a Death Eater?"

The veritaserum had worn off just enough, at that point, to allow some freedom of movement in the accused. His eyes lost some of their glaze, and he looked around for a moment. Seeing one of the auror guards, he nodded, and watched as the burly auror ripped the sleeve of his robes. Though pale and dirty, the forearm was clearly unmarked.

"Nope." Sirius said, proudly.

Amelia Bones looked at the Minister for Magic, who stood stock still, his eyes focused on Sirius Black as if wishing intensely enough would make the man disappear. "Minister?"

Fudge, grasping for any option, took the only available choice. He stalled. "Does anyone speak for the victim?" Dumbledore's eyes went to Lord Hillyer, and so he missed the hooded figure in the visitor's seats. The gasps around him caused him to turn back, where he found Harry Spellforged staring back at him with an intense gaze. Before he could say anything, Harry spoke.

"I Speak as the victim, Minister Fudge." The boy stepped into the aisle, walking forward to the rail, before an auror let him onto the floor of the Wizengamot. He did not wear the purple robes of the Wizengamot, nor did he wear his school robes. Instead, he had chosen to wear black robes with three crests - House Potter and Clan Ragnok, with a smaller crest for House Black. Apart from that crest, there was nothing on the boy that said 'Goblin', and yet every movement and every word was almost intensely Goblin in manner.

As Harry began his set piece, Mockridge thought that, if he closed his eyes, he might envision a Goblin speaking.

"I am Harry Spellforged, the son of James and Lily Potter, adopted son of Clan Ragnok, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black, and Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter." He walked calmly, slowly, almost pacing the floor, daring one of the members to challenge his right to speak. He pointed a finger at Sirius, who sat stunned at the vision of his Godson before him.

"This man is my sworn Godfather. He was given home and hearth at Potter Manor in his sixth year, taken in by my grandparents, brother in all but blood to my father, James Potter. " He turned his eyes to the membership. "My adopted father, Director Ragnok, promised that the betrayer of the Potters would see Goblin Justice. In this, he spoke truth - but thankfully, today is not that day." He turned first to Madam Bones, then Minister Fudge, and giving both a deep bow. "We thank you, Director Bones, Minister Fudge, for helping to correct this travesty of justice." Harry gave Sirius a wink before resuming his seat.

Lord Greengrass rose. "Madam Bones, given what we have heard…" His voice trailed off as Madam Bones stood. This was the tricky part - for Ragnok had not been at all certain that a vote would go their way, even with veritaserum. But the DMLE could simply drop the charges entirely, if the Director saw fit to do so.

"In light of the testimony given today, all charges against Sirius Orion Black for the betrayal of the Potters are hereby dismissed." It took seven minutes to bring the room back to order, or at least enough order to adjourn the session. Harry Spellforged ignored the members congratulating him as he walked to the center of the room, where Sirius Black still stood in shock.

They stood in the center of the chamber, facing each other. Sirius saw the boy he had held as a baby, grown to a proud…. Goblin? Harry, meanwhile, stood facing the man he had hated as long as he had known his name. After a moment, almost as if Spellforged had been talking himself into it, the boy whispered.

"Uncle Padfoot?"

Then the two men hugged, and the chamber stopped mattering.

oOoOoOoOo

"Auntie, we owe you one."

Madam Bones sipped her tea, waving off the notion. "I was just doing my job, Harry."

Harry nodded, taking a sip of his own tea before setting the cup on the Director's desk. "I know. But answer me this, Madam Bones - if you had found the empty trial record, the misfiled paper, the false documents that kept Sirius in Azkaban? Just, you know, stumbled across them during an unrelated search. Could you have gotten him a trial?"

Amelia Bones considered her Godson. He had had such a long day, but had handled it well. Tea in her office had been the least she could do for her Godson, after that performance.

"Harry, even with a wizard as a victim instead of a Goblin, I think I could have justified a trial here. And once the facts were out, getting Sirius free was simple. Did you notice that no one objected? Not even Lord Malfoy."

Harry nodded. "I think my claim of being the Heir Black shocked him - which is why I mentioned it. Father was convinced he'd object to that."

Amelia smirked. "How much does he owe you?"

Harry shrugged innocently. "10 Galleons." They both laughed at that - the side bets between father and son had grown their own legend over the years.

After a moment, Harry took another sip of his tea. "There is one question I had, though, Auntie."

"Of course."

"Lord Greengrass, I understand his support, his house has voted with House Potter and Longbottom in the past, and his wife was friends with my mother."

"True so far. Don't forget to thank him for that, by the way."

"Of course, Auntie. But who is Lord Hillyer? He seemed pretty adamant about supporting us, and I don't recall anything about him or his house."

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"No," replied Harry. "Sirius is getting checked out at Saint Mungo's."

Madam Bones rolled her eyes. "No, I mean you don't know Lord Hillyer?"

Harry shook his head. "I've studied the ministry, but we figured I'd have several years before needing to get involved in anything dealing with the Wizengamot. Who is he?"

Amelia Bones set her cup down. "Harry, Lord Hillyer votes as the Proxy for House Potter." She looked at him intently. "He votes for your house."

* * *

 **A/N:** **If the Potters switched secret keepers, it stands to reason that Sirius was at one point a Secret Keeper. Amelia and Sirius prepared quite well - perhaps there is a bottle of scotch in her future, as well.**

 **This is one of the chapters I've had in my head for a while, and part of why I kept writing and writing this week. Lots of moving parts here. Theories and Wild Speculation are both welcome in the reviews, as always.**


	12. Polite Requests

The trial, and its aftermath, dominated the conference that night. Spellforged had tried to send what he heard during the trial over the link, but quickly found that he could not concentrate on that and the trial at the same time. So the others had to be content with his account of events.

Rose, Marigold, and Seeker Potter were excited at the plan's success. Rose was especially impressed by Spellforged's after-session tea with Madam Bones, where he managed to gather a roadmap for their own attempts at freedom for their godfather. Marigold had worried about this problem, as they would not have the Goblin Nation standing beside them as Spellforged had.

But if Madam Bones believes that enough evidence exists - or doesn't exist - then they could proceed. Each of the three would send a polite letter to Steelclaw, introducing themselves and asking about this Heir (or Heiress) Black nonsense. And also, incidentally, who is Lord Black and can we speak with him as well to sort this out? We've never met, you see.

Rose had wondered if the Black family allowed its daughters to inherit the duties of Head of House - the unspoken question being whether Sirius would have felt as close a connection to James and Lily's daughter as he clearly did to their son. But that went on the list of things to deal with another time. Here, they didn't care about the Black family as such, except as a tool for freeing Sirius. The rest could come later.

Chaser Potter, meanwhile, was livid at his dogfather's treatment, all because no one thought to spend 10 minutes questioning him after his arrest. He also found himself curious as to how events had gone in his world - did anyone think Sirius was the secret keeper there? He had never been arrested, so perhaps his account (and that of James, for that matter) had been enough to put the issue to bed.

A very dead and very marked Peter Pettigrew probably helped on that score as well.

January had ended with more heavy snows, making Quidditch a challenge. All five got good use out of their new winter cloaks, which just raised the question of their origin once more. Spellforged had asked his version of Foecleaver about the letter, and the goblin had had few answers.

"He said it sounds familiar, but he couldn't place it." reported Spellforged. "I think he has a good guess, but doesn't want to be wrong. Which means that his guess, whoever it is, is important enough to cause problems if he or she is accused of something untoward."

"What do you think of Foecleaver, Spellforged?" Seeker Potter asked. He seemed to be considering the letter's advice.

Spellforged thought a moment. "Let me put it this way. Once you make contact and start using his services, he will have served four generations of our family. Senior Accounts Manager is a prestigious job within Gringott's, but not always a stable one. And there are many old families who will dismiss their manager at the slightest failure. So to have built long-term trust with a respected family like House Potter speaks well of the manager in question."

"So, he's good at his job." Marigold chuckled.

"Yes, he is very good at his job. And if I hadn't come to Hogwarts, I probably would have apprenticed with him. I think he is to me what Sirius is to Chaser, there - a close and trusted uncle."

"If he's like your uncle," asked Seeker Potter, "then why did you talk about his job history?"

Spellforged laughed at this. "Oh, me? I trust Foecleaver with my life. But that's just me. I wanted you all to make your own decision. It's your bag of galleons, as they say."

The five chatted for a few more minutes, as the hour grew late and they began to disperse. Before she went to bed, Rose asked Spellforged about the mysterious Lord Hillyer.

Spellforged sighed. "I don't know much. He was appointed by our grandfather in 1978, just before our father graduated from Hogwart's. The family was talking about going into hiding, and he wanted to make sure that the Potter seat did not sit empty. Madam Bones says that Hillyer is rarely seen outside of the Wizengamot chambers, but attends every meeting."

"So, he's an enigma then." She summarized. "Daphne's father told her that he usually votes with the Longbottom-Bones families, which tells me that he's not some death eater puppet."

"I think that's why he was chosen, honestly." Spellforged replied. "Think about it, if the first war ended badly and the death eaters took over, an empty seat would almost invite a proxy - one who wouldn't exactly uphold the family honor. Grandfather took our vote off the table."

"I'll watch him when my Sirius goes to trial, then, get a feel for him." said Rose. "But if it's as you say, then we can leave it alone for now."

"For now." Spellforged agreed.

oOoOoOoOo

The next week was busy, with classes starting to get into slightly more advanced magic, building toward the end of term exams. Hermione's normal love of studying, unfettered by other concerns as it might have been in Gryffindor, had nearly grown out of control. Daphne and Tracy had finally needed to sit the ravenclaw down and encourage her to reign it in a little. Daphne, they argued, was probably number 2 in their year after Hermione, and she studied only about a third as much. Nor would she entertain the notion that it was due to her heritage, or natural skill, or what have you - and when Hermione mentioned that, she was coldly reminded by Daphne that they had seen each other in the wandmaker's shop and had owned their wands for almost exactly the same amount of time.

"Why don't you study with us for a week, Hermione?" offered Tracy. "See if we can help you study more efficiently, so that you have more time to relax. You'll burn out if you do too much, you know, both magically and health-wise." Hermione had sputtered, she had fumed, but ultimately she could not offer an argument against the idea.

And so, their little study group was born. It surprised no one when Rose Potter showed up on day one. After a week in the group, Hermione had reluctantly agreed that maybe Daphne and Tracy knew what they were talking about.

This week, Rose's newfound interest in the workings of the Wizengamot had led Daphne to suggest another member for the group. That was what brought a nervous Susan Bones to the library that evening, joining Tracy Davis and Hermione Granger at one of the back tables.

The Hufflepuff had watched all year as the usual Gryffindor versus Slytherin rivalry flared up in the hallways and on the quidditch pitch. Both houses, when they realized that the girl-who-lived was coming in their year, had expected her to lead the charge to the house cup and the utter humiliation of their opponents.

The silence from Gryffindor when Rose had been sorted into Slytherin was only the beginning - many had resented her perceived betrayal. The snakes, too, had wondered if they had a lion in snakeskin among them. Her swift (and utterly non-magical) takedown of Draco Malfoy that first night had led most of the snakes to accept her, if grudgingly.

But it was her complete disinterest in the house rivalry that surprised everybody, including Susan. Befriending a Ravenclaw (and a muggleborn one at that!) only confused the matter further. When a prefect asked her about it, she shrugged. "Not all worthwhile allies wear green." It was, the prefect had to admit, a very slytherin answer.

(The real reason, that she knew for fact that she could have gone into Gryffindor, as Marigold and her 'brothers' had, was not mentioned.)

Tracy and Hermione did their best to make Susan feel at ease, and it helped a bit. They chatted about the upcoming quidditch match between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, which drew Susan into the conversation even further. Susan remarked that, with Hufflepuff's narrow win over Ravenclaw in November, the badgers actually had a shot this year. When Hermione started wondering if there were books on Quidditch statistics that might help them pick winners, Susan and Tracy shared a look of their own. Then they got their homework out, to Hermione's exasperation.

On their arrival, Rose and Daphne found the three hard at work. Rose was surprised to see the book about Quidditch tucked into the pile of books next to Hermione, but said nothing. _The boys will be amused by that, no doubt_ _ **,**_ she thought.

After a while, Hermione got out her charms book and some parchment, to work on the essay for that Friday's class. As she did, she notice a book on Goblin treaties next to Rose. "Is that for History?" she asked, pointing to the book.

Rose looked at it, and then at her friend. "No, I'm writing a letter to the goblins and want to make sure it's just right." She smiled as she looked back to her letter. "I have it on good authority that it is unwise to offend the goblins, after all."

Susan nodded. "My aunt has to deal with them sometimes, because of her job. Not often, though - they have their own courts and aurors."

Rose grinned at her. "All the more reason to avoid problems, then. Besides, if I can't deal with it by letter, then I'll have to visit the bank over the holidays, and that almost sounds riskier." Seeing Daphne and Tracy packing their bags, Rose began to put away her work in progress. "It's no big deal." The other girls put their own books away, and soon the group was walking to dinner.

Her request wasn't a secret, really, and its results would be plastered across the front page of the _Prophet_ if she were successful. But she didn't really want her status with the House of Black to become a topic of speculation around the school. Nor did she want to give Hermione a new research project. She was enjoying their study group, and she and Susan had gotten along during this first encounter, but old habits die hard - and Rose was still inclined to keep this to herself.

oOoOoOoOo

Breakfast the following morning saw the usual mail owls making their deliveries. The surprise came when two owls landed beside Rose and Daphne. The nearer of the two, a beautiful brown owl, had the small medallion that denoted an official Gringott's owl. Daphne's was one of her family's owls. The girls looked at each other, then collected their letters.

Daphne's was a simple letter from her father.

 _20 February 1992_

 _Daphne Greengrass  
_ _Slytherin House  
_ _Hogwarts_

 _My dear,_

 _I have been asked by Madam Bones to escort Rose Potter to the next meeting of the Wizengamot. While I don't yet know the reasons for which her attendance might be required, I do know that nothing on the agenda should impact her or House Potter in the slightest. And if it did, Lord Hillyer is there to represent her family's interests, as you and I have discussed._

 _All of that tells me that we can expect some surprises, come Monday._

 _As the named Heiress to the House of Greengrass, you have the right to attend meetings of the Wizengamot. If you wish, you may accompany Rose and I to the Ministry for Monday's session. I suspect that the experience will be educational enough to justify the missed classes, and if the matter directly impacts Rose, she may need your support as well._

 _I have included a letter requesting that you and Rose Potter be excused from classes on Monday. Please give it to your head of house, as he will need to approve Rose's attendance regardless of your decision. (But I hope you join us.) I will meet you both in the entrance hall at 8 o'clock on Monday, February 24th, to escort you to the Ministry._

 _I would tell you to keep your ears open, but I know you are doing that anyway._

 _All my love,_

 _Daniel Greengrass, the Lord Greengrass_

Daphne smiled when she saw his formal signature crossed out and "Dad" scrawled hurriedly in its place. She looked over at Rose, and saw the look of shock on her usually reserved housemate's face.

"Rose?" she asked. Wordlessly, Rose handed her letter over, and accepted the letter from Daphne's father in return. Daphne looked at the parchment, seeing the ornate script, and the Gringott's seal at the top. Somehow, the parchment had the image of a dragon printed in a watermark, probably as another way to prove the letter's authenticity.

 _20 February 1992_

 _Rose Potter  
_ _Slytherin House  
_ _Hogwarts_

 _Heiress Potter,_

 _It is my pleasure to offer this reply to your correspondence of this week. I must admit, your simple letter, delivered as it was by your regent, has caused quite a bit of a stir, both here and at the Ministry. Officially, Gringott's takes no notice of the workings of the Ministry in this matter. Unofficially - well done._

 _You are indeed, as you suspected, the Heiress Black. This results from your status as the sole heir of one Sirius Orion Black, the Lord Apparent of the House of Black. Lord Black designated you as his sole heir on 5 September 1980, shortly after your birth. Arcturus Black, the Grandfather of Sirius Black, was then the head of House Black. While there is some indication that Sirius Black had been removed from the family and disowned, no official action was taken by Arcturus Black, and so the Ministry (and Gringott's) do not recognize any such action._

 _Arcturus Black passed away in January of 1991. At the time of his passing, his will left the Lordship of the House of Black to his grandson, Sirius Orion Black. Thus, once he takes up the Lordship ring and gives his oath to the House, Sirius Black will become the Lord Black. As his will currently names you as the sole beneficiary of his estate, and with it his titles, you are therefore the Heiress Black._

 _Now, here is where your inquiry comes into play. Sirius Black currently sits in Azkaban, the wizarding prison, having been accused of the Betrayal of you and your parents on 31 October 1981. The conventional wisdom is that he was convicted of the crime, properly sentenced to a life term in prison, and incarcerated as a result. The problem here is that such a conviction would have stripped Sirius Black of his place in the line of succession of House Black, as the family magics would not countenance a true (and convicted) betrayer as Head of House. The fact that magic recognizes Sirius Black as Lord Black, despite his current situation, suggests that he was not properly convicted._

 _We reached out to Madam Amelia Bones, Director of Magical Law Enforcement with the Ministry, to obtain records of Lord Black's trial, arrest, questioning, and transfer to Azkaban. Director Bones found no record of a trial, nor any evidence that Sirius Black was questioned at all following his arrest. Under her own authority, she plans to bring the matter before the Wizengamot at their February meeting, scheduled for the 24th._

 _You may wish to attend that meeting. Given the lack of evidence in the record, and the absence of any questioning under veritaserum, we cannot discount the possibility that Lord Black may be innocent of the crimes of which he is accused. While we do not yet know what will happen, if anything, regarding House Black, we do suspect that it will directly impact your life. Setting that aside, whatever happens, you remain the Heiress Potter, and my esteemed colleague Foecleaver (your accounts manager) suggests that attending a few sessions of the Wizengamot may prove educational._

 _We will all watch, with interest, the events of next Monday. In the meantime, best wishes to you in your studies. My door is open to you, as is that of Foecleaver, should you require our assistance in the days to come._

 _Until then, I remain your servant,_

 _Steelclaw of Clan Wullfrott  
_ _Senior Accounts Manager  
_ _The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black_

Daphne looked up, and saw Rose returning her gaze. There was surprise in those green eyes, almost shock. Her friend was rarely this out of sorts, though it was easy to see how the letter from Gringott's might have had that result.

"That was certainly a quick response," Daphne said, trying to lighten the mood. Rose looked at her, puzzled, and then reached into her bag. Handing a parchment over, Rose said nothing.

Daphne looked down, and saw another letter written in Rose's steady hand.

 _February 1992_

 _Steelclaw of Clan Wullfrott  
_ _Senior Accounts Manager  
_ _Gringott's, London_

 _Dear Senior Accounts Manager,_

 _My name is Rose Potter, and I am the Heiress to the House of Potter. I write today, however, in relation to the House of Black, for whom I am told you are the Accounts Manager. I seek merely to understand my position and the nature of my (potential) responsibilities as I find my place in Wizarding Britain._

Daphne read through the letter as it laid out what Rose knew about being the Heiress Black, what she had guessed about Sirius Black, and why it was so. Then she saw her request for more information about Sirius Black at the end, followed by…. nothing. The letter was unfinished.

Looking at Rose, she saw the same look of confusion. Rose met her eyes, seeing the question before it was raised.

"My sworn godfather, Sirius Black, who was accused of betraying my family to Voldemort, may not have received a trial." She held up the Gringott's letter. "And today, I got a response to a letter asking about it. A letter I haven't finished yet and haven't even thought about sending." She then pointed to the letter from Lord Greengrass. "And, apparently, the request has gone so far as to make it to the Wizengamot, which means Madam Bones has had a few days to dig into it." Rose sighed. "I honestly have no idea what just happened."

Daphne took the Gringott's letter again. " _your simple letter, delivered as it was by your regent"_ she read. "Could the Potter Regent have anticipated your request?"

Rose's eyebrow raised at that. "Daph, I just found out that the Potters have a proxy. I've never met with or even heard about a Potter Regent. So no, I have no idea who could have spoken for me, on a matter that I've only discussed with you, and acting on my behalf with enough authority to get the goblins to play along." She closed her eyes, bringing a hand to the bridge of her nose. "Just give me a minute, Daphne. I need to figure this out."

Daphne nodded, collecting the letters and placing them neatly in Rose's bag. As she did so, she notice Rose's jaw and throat flexing slightly, almost imperceptibly. _She must really be worried about this_ , Daphne thought.

Rose, meanwhile, had reached out to the link. _Anyone else get a letter from Gringott's this morning?_ Marigold and Seeker Potter confirmed that yes, they had. After a few moments comparing notes, the three determined that their letters were identical.

 _Alright,_ Rose thought, _Next question. Read me the second line of the letter, starting with "I must admit," please._ Neither of the other letters mentioned the regent. _Fine, last question. When did you send your request to Steelclaw?_

 _Mine went on Monday,_ said Marigold. _Neville coached me a little, but I tried to keep it simple._

 _Same,_ replied Seeker Potter. _Except that I had Neville and Hermione both pitch in. We had to stop Hermione from researching all of the Goblin Treaties, but she calmed down eventually. Clearly, we did something right. What about you, Rose?_

 _My request is sitting in my bag. I haven't sent it yet. Steelclaw received a letter from me, hand delivered by the Potter Regent._

 _So the question becomes,_ said Spellforged, _Who the hell is the Potter Regent?_

 _That's not the question, though,_ replied Chaser Potter. _Think about it, who knew we were writing this letter? In Rose's world, it was Daphne Greengrass and that's it. Foecleaver might have gotten wind of it if we went through him, but we deliberately didn't, right?_ Chaser Potter kept going, the worry in his voice bleeding into the link. _Even if Daphne told her father, there's no way he could act as Potter Regent - and he would have told her if he was, or she would have found out over the holidays. We've never spoken to this Lord Hillyer, so even if he's the proxy for our vote, he would have no way to act as regent since we've never spoken to him._

 _So someone knows what we've discussed between us here, in the link. Someone we don't know and have never met or spoken with. Someone who can plausibly act on our behalf, at least enough to get the Goblins to work with them._

The implications worked their way through the five, and all were troubled by the revelation. Rose opened her eyes, looking at her untouched breakfast and now cold tea. **/Groznak/** she spat, surprising the table with the Goblin curse. Looking up at Daphne, her face determined, Rose nodded.

"After class, we need to owl your father."

* * *

 **A/N: Some more layers to the Proxy/Regent issue. This seemed more fun than another set of mystery bottles of scotch, though those remain a treat. As hinted above, n** **one of this directly impacts Chaser Potter, as his Uncle Padfoot remained free. But the idea that the link itself might not be secure is a troubling one to him - and the others.**

 **My outline continues to grow, though I do plan to keep this focused on the five and who they are - and who they might become. I've tried very hard to give each their own voice, and I hope that I've succeeded. My output may slow a bit, as four chapters in a week is pushing it - but, on the other hand, this story has grabbed me and I want to keep it moving along.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	13. Sworn Oaths

After a brief conversation with Lord Greengrass, Daphne and Rose took their seats in the upper gallery of the Wizengamot chamber. Usually reserved for family members and heirs of sitting members, the location gave the girls a clear view of the room. Marigold and Seeker Potter had done much the same, having asked Madam Longbottom (through Neville) to escort them to the session. In both worlds, Neville had asked to attend as well, a request his Gran quickly approved.

The five had sweated out every detail of the hearing, from seating to robes to the statement that would be offered at the end. Knowing what was coming gave them time to prepare, but Spellforged's experience was not as helpful as it might have been - they would not have the Goblin Nation behind them, for starters.

Nor would they speak from the floor. Spellforged, in wearing the crest of Clan Ragnok onto the floor of the Wizengamot, had been making a show of strength. While effective, it was not a move they could duplicate. There was no inherent strength backing an orphaned first year. No, Rose had argued that the more slytherin course was best - let known figures make statements on their behalf, and take the opportunity to observe responses. As Daphne put it to Rose, keep them looking at your beaters while you look for their snitch.

In the end, Daphne's argument (as described by Rose) was the winning one, and the five agreed. Seeker Potter, on hearing it phrased that way, wondered if his Daphne would be as easily befriended as her own. Rose had gotten a laugh out of that, but wished him luck.

They had not approached Lord Hillyer, in any of the three worlds, as he was still an unknown. But while Madam Longbottom would likely be taking Marigold and Seeker directly back to Hogwarts, Lord Greengrass had asked to meet with Madam Bones. At Rose's request, he also asked Lord Hillyer to meet as well. It would be the first opportunity for any of the five to take a measure of the man, and Rose was looking forward to it.

During the preliminary business, Rose asked Lord Greengrass for a copy of the quorum sheet, which he provided after a quick _geminio_ charm. The desks of members were enchanted to duplicate parchment given to the Wizengamot by the clerk, and to accept (and duplicate) documents the other way. This let members enter evidence into the record, and ensured that each member received copies of anything being voted upon. No one could try to invalidate a vote on grounds that they didn't know what was up for a vote, when magic kept everyone informed.

Marigold and Seeker compared their sheets with Rose's, partly as a way to kill the time, and partly to compare their worlds. Rarely were three of them in the exact same place, doing the exact same thing, at the exact same time. It wasn't an opportunity to be missed.

As it turned out, the worlds were very similar, if the list of members present at the February 1992 meeting of the Wizengamot was any indication. Rose noticed that either her Lady Ashbrook was a Lord in both of the other worlds, or else he simply had his Lady serve as proxy for the day. The deputy clerk was different in Marigold's world, as well. Those were the only differences.

The agenda pressed forward, and Daphne offered her insights on the issues before the body, as well as the members for and against each. After a few votes, Rose began to realize that Daphne was a natural at this. In some ways, she reminded Rose of Lee Jordan doing quidditch commentary.

Neville, too, gave his own thoughts, and sometimes caught the same nuances as Daphne. Marigold, having heard Rose pass along a comment from Daphne, mentioned it to Neville, and he complimented her insight - which left the three chuckling to themselves over the link.

When the Chief Warlock asked for any other business, it was Madam Bones who stood from her podium on the floor. She wove a tale of an orphaned child, a brutal attack that took the child's parents, and of a betrayer who stabbed them in the back. Yes, we have the man in custody, but no he has not yet had a trial, and it's been some time, so an emergency trial is called for.

The words seemed much as Spellforged had described the Goblin Liaison's speech, and Rose only half listened as she watched reactions. Lord Malfoy had conferred with the Lord sitting next to him as soon as Madam Bones began speaking, but then nodded and returned to his usual disinterested sneer. The other members seemed suitably horrified. As before, Lord Hillyer made the motion to go to trial, with a second from Lord Greengrass.

Rose smiled when Lord Greengrass nodded to her in acknowledgement, making the move a personal one as well as political. Daphne chuckled at this - "I told you he liked you, Rose."

When Lord Hillyer made his speech to the Minister, Daphne leaned over. "Did you hear that?" Rose, her eyes still on the flustered Minister Fudge, shook her head slightly. "He said a _girl_ has been orphaned. He knows what about to happen." She tilted her head. "And then he said that he doesn't give a good goddamn. That's not something you'll hear a pureblood say." Seeker asked his Neville about that, and got a similar response. A pureblood, Neville reasoned, would say something like Merlin-be-damned, whereas a halfblood or a muggleborn who had grown up in the muggle world might use goddamn in the same way.

It was unusual for a member of the Wizengamot - and not a detail Rose would have noticed.

As Sirius was brought into the chamber, Rose watched the reactions of the members - and of the Chief Warlock. She saw the conversation between Dumbledore and Lord Hillyer, but did not hear any of what was said. Both looked upset afterwards, the Chief Warlock moreso. Lord Hillyer, meanwhile, kept his focus on Sirius Black.

The interrogation proceeded much as it had with Spellforged, with the answers coming out the same way. This had been the critical moment - if important facts changed between worlds, they would show themselves here. With the details of the attack and the fact that Sirius was their sword godfather being so closely identical in each world, the five been comfortable with the risk - and if he _was_ actually a betrayer in one of the worlds? Better to know now.

But in each of the trials, Sirius demanded and was given veritaserum, and in each he confirmed that Peter Pettigrew had been the true betrayer. Their final confrontation must have gone differently in Seeker's world, for there Sirius stated that yes, Peter was a marked death eater, as his mark had been revealed just before his so-called 'death'.

Fudge again tried to stall for time by asking for the victim to come forward. The five had been divided on this tactic, as they didn't know if he planned to discredit Sirius through them, or simply delay. None of them had spoken with the man, and so they had nothing to go on beyond his reputation. So they played it safe and had a brief statement read.

Lord Greengrass rose. "Minister Fudge, at the request of Miss Potter, whom I escorted here today, I have been asked to read the following statement. 'I have already endured more than ten years of uncertainty in life as a result of the unwarranted incarceration of my _sworn_ godfather, Sirius Black. Justice delayed is justice denied. I trust the members of the Wizengamot to make a just and fair ruling in this matter.' Thank you."

Mentioning that he had brought her here defused any objections based on his reading of the statement, since traditionally it should have come from the proxy for the victim's house. The suggestion, from Marigold's Madam Longbottom, had been a good one.

The key word in the statement, and the one the five had focused on, was _sworn_. That Sirius was a sworn godfather almost got more gasps than the revelation about Pettigrew - but once the implications worked their way through the membership, the verdict became a forgone conclusion.

In all three trials, Sirius Black was exonerated of all charges.

Unlike Spellforged, the three of them were nowhere near the floor when the trial ended, so Sirius was shepherded off into an antechamber. Marigold and Seeker would reunite with their dogfather there, before being floo'ed off to Hogwarts while Sirius went to Saint Mungo's and the healers.

Rose, with the help of Lord Greengrass and Madam Bones, had made other arrangements. Before the crowd could begin asking the girls questions about what had happened, Lord Greengrass collected them and led them into the back hallways of the chamber.

oOoOoOoOo

Each member of the Wizengamot was given a working office. These were usually used for last-minute politicking, vote counting, or coalition building. More frequently, they let a member change into formal robes before sessions, or to have somewhere to eat lunch during a long recess. Rose saw several recognizable crests as they walked the back halls of the chamber. She recognized the crest of House Greengrass as they passed, before turning a corner - and almost running into an auror. The man nodded to them, before opening a doorway.

Rose had only a moment to recognize the House of Black crest, before she was ushered into the office.

Madam Bones was speaking quietly with the now-former prisoner, who had his back to the door. Rose almost stopped at the sight of him - from the high seats, he had seemed filthy but otherwise in decent shape. Up close, she could see how the years had taken their toll.

She found her eyes beginning to water. Before, when this plan had first come up, she had seen godparents - any godparents - as a better option than the Dursleys. It had been a risk-reward proposition, to her. She wanted out, and he might be able to help.

Hearing Chaser Potter describe his healthy and un-imprisoned Uncle Sirius, senior hitwizard for the DMLE and the current Lord Black, gave the impression of a loving and mischievous figure. Spellforged's telling, meanwhile, focused more on his side of the relationship - for Spellforged had known about Sirius' betrayal for far longer than the others had. He had a lot of his own emotions to work through.

Both had gotten her thinking about her own dogfather - and what role he might play in her life. Her parents had trusted this man, and Madam Bones trusted him - else she would not have helped them get him freed. Chaser Potter trusted him with his life. Could she?

Sirius turned away from Madam Bones, his haggard face lighting up when he saw Rose enter. She found herself walking toward the now free Sirius Black, her eyes watering. It was his eyes, she remembered those eyes. Just flashes of memory, but it was enough. For the instant he saw her enter, his face lit up and his own eyes watered. And when she whispered "Uncle Padfoot," he melted into sobs as they hugged in the center of the office.

To the surprise of everyone present, Rose Potter began sobbing only moments later.

oOoOoOoOo

After Sirius was safely on his way to Saint Mungo's, with promises of frequent owls and as many visits as they could manage, the girls had a light lunch with Madam Bones and Lord Greengrass in the House Greengrass office. Rose used the time to collect herself, and the Greengrasses were happy to give her the space to do so.

Rose shared a look with Daphne - and the girls nodded to each other. _Game faces on,_ Rose thought. Such were her emotions that the link heard her thought, and the others wished her luck - all were curious about her next meeting. But they had also agreed that, of the five, she was the best one to take this first step.

The trio walked down the hall, but not far - in an effort to provide a neutral meeting place, Madam Bones had offered them the use of the office provided to House Bones. When they entered, they found Madam Bones speaking with Lord Hillyer, Head of House Hillyer and Proxy for the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter.

He was a younger man than Rose had expected, though it was hard to tell with wizards sometimes. Lord Greengrass had put him in his mid forties, an age consistent with having been a respected Lord in 1978. His hair was a dark blond, though she could see some hints of red. It went well with his piercing grey eyes. He still wore his Wizengamot robes, though Rose noticed a glove on his left hand.

Rose noticed that his robes had the Potter crest, with a smaller Hillyer crest below, showing that his Wizengamot seat stemmed from House Potter and not his own. The Hillyer crest featured a blue shield with a rampant lion in gold, surmounted by a stag - nothing overly familiar to her. The scroll underneath the shield had a phrase in latin, but she could not get a good look at its text.

Lord Hillyer was smiling as they entered, and his expression seemed to be one that smiled often - his was a kind face. Rose felt herself relax, ever so slightly, even though she could not explain why.

Madam Bones made the introductions, mostly for the girls as Lord Hillyer already knew Daniel Greengrass. Hillyer asked her to call him Joseph, to which she found herself asking that he call her Rose. The group took seats on couches, with Rose seated across from Lord Hillyer, who opened the conversation.

"I imagine you have many questions for me, Rose. I'd be happy to answer them for you."

She considered him, wondering where to start. "Daniel said that you were named as proxy by my grandfather?" Rose asked.

Hillyer nodded. "Yes. I met him through some mutual investments from which our families had profited, including an old muggle distillery that Foecleaver found. We became friends, Charlus and I." The smile on his face faded slightly. "He was a good man. And so was James, your father." He leaned back in his seat, his eyes holding her attention. "It was a different time, back then. James was about to graduate from Hogwarts, and already had talked about becoming an auror and fighting the death eaters. Charlus worried about the future of his house."

"If, somehow, the ministry fell to Voldemort, and they started putting puppets into the ministry, well - how long would it take them to start filling empty seats with proxies of their own? No, Charlus was not willing to let the Potter votes go to death eaters or pureblood bigots or the like." Hillyer brought his gloved hand to his chest. "Now, I am proud of my own house, but we aren't exactly ancient. My grandmother was the first witch in a long line of squibs, to the point where she considered herself a muggleborn when she went to school. But when Charlus and I would get to talking about the Wizengamot, and about how the meetings fascinated me and bored him to death, well, it was only a matter of time at that point."

Rose nodded, absorbing the man's tale. It matched what she and Spellforged had guessed about the proxy - their grandfather wanted the Potter vote out of play. "It sounds like a very slytherin approach, to be honest," she remarked, looking for a reaction.

Hillyer chuckled at that. "Perhaps. Only by association, on my side - I was sorted into the house of the Horned Serpent at Ilvermorny, a fact that Charlus teased me about endlessly, I assure you."

 _Hadn't expected that,_ thought Rose. "So, you are the Proxy for House Potter. Does that mean that I tell you how to vote?"

He shook his head. "No, not really. As we learn more about each other over time, I will get a sense of your ideals, your positions on important matters. From Daniel's telling, I suspect that we will agree on most issues before the Wizengamot. But if there's something you feel strongly about, I will of course vote as you would have me vote." He leaned forward again, keeping his focus on her. "My oath is - and will be - to House Potter, and to its sons and daughters. I am bound by other oaths, of course, but in this I represent your interests, not my own."

Again, the answer was mostly what she expected, having been coached by Daphne. "And if I choose another proxy? Not that I plan to do so, mind, but if it seemed wise to do so? Or if you retired?"

A laugh. "Sometimes it feels like I've been in this job forever, going to the same meetings over and over. But no, I have no plans to retire before you take over as the Lady Potter." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Unfortunately, the family magics will only recognize a proxy named by Lord or Lady Potter. So for the moment, we are stuck together, I'm afraid."

As Rose processed that answer, Daphne filled the silence. "Lord Hillyer… sorry, Joseph… Do you do any work outside of the Wizengamot? In the ministry, perhaps?"

Hillyer nodded. "In my real life," he said with a smirk, "I am an architect for magical buildings."

Lord Greengrass spoke up at this. "Madam Longbottom and I have been trying to convince Joseph here to make a proposal for the new ICW building in the Netherlands. Some of his designs are impressive."

Hillyer looked to his friend, one eyebrow raised. "Some?" He sipped his tea and tried not to laugh. "My designs are timeless, I'll have you know."

The group moved to small talk, discussing school and other matters. When it came time to end the meeting, Rose had one final question.

"Joseph, by any chance, do you know who holds the Regency for House Potter?"

Hillyer paused, turning to her. She could see him considering his answer. Presently, he sighed. "I do know, Rose. It's part of the family magics, you see. In the event that all adult members of the House are slain, the regency falls to a council of witches and wizards." He leaned forward. "I am bound by an oath not to reveal the membership of that council, unfortunately."

He could see that she was not happy with that answer, and so he pressed on. "I can tell you that each and every member has taken an oath on their life and magic to serve the interests of House Potter, if that helps."

"At some point," Rose replied, annoyed, "I'll have to learn who controls the business of my house."

Hillyer smiled again. "Yes, I daresay you will. I even know exactly when you will learn who sits on the council." He stood, removing his wand from a holster on his left arm. "On the day you take your place as a member."

He then lifted his wand. "Speaking of oaths," Hillyer said. "I, Lord Joseph Hillyer, Head of the House of Hillyer, swear on my life, my magic, and my honor, to faithfully serve the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter as its Proxy in matters before the Wizengamot of Great Britain and Ireland." Here there was a pulse of light. "I renew the vow I made to Lord Charlus Potter, of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, to faithfully serve and protect the sons and daughters of his house, until such time as they take up their duties as Head of House." Another pulse of light. "I renew the vow I made to Lord James Potter, of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, to guide his daughter in her duties as Head of that House." A third pulse of light. "As I say, so I swear." The pale wand glowed with a blue light, sealing the oath.

 _That's quite an oath,_ thought Rose. Not even a magical oath, but one on his life and honor - if he had wanted to reassure the Heiress of his house, he had succeeded.

"Thank you, Lord Hillyer, for your faithful service. I look forward to calling upon your wisdom." She bowed in recognition of the oath.

Lord Hillyer returned the bow. "My Lady, it has been a pleasure to finally meet you."

oOoOoOoOo

Once Rose and the Greengrasses were on their way back to Hogwarts, Joseph sighed and sat heavily on the couch. Catching a smirk from Madam Bones, he snorted.

"Amelia, you know how worried I was about this meeting."

"Nonsense," she responded, handing him a drink, before pouring one of her own. "It went quite well, I thought."

Hillyer had to agree - it had gone well, better than he could have hoped. Once she had taken her seat, he raised his glass. "Ego lapisque angularis."

Amelia acknowledged the toast with a nod, before taking a drink of her scotch. "Quite a toast. What does it mean?"

"Oh," said Joseph, with a smile. "Just the words of my house."


	14. Chasers in Flight

The brisk March weather had done little to depress the turnout for the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match. Harry could hear the stadium creak and sway as more students filled the stands, all eager for the game to begin. Somewhere, across the pitch, the professors and staff would be taking their seats as well.

He hoped his father had brought Aunt Amelia, as he had asked. The house rivalry was enough of a hook, but the added benefit of rooting for her niece's house against her godson was too much to ignore.

There were other reasons to keep her close, today of all days.

It was something Seeker Potter had said the week prior, when he talked about his first match against Slytherin. At one point, his broom had gone out of control - but not in an uncontrollable way, as if one of the rune clusters had failed or the broom had been damaged. No, it was as if someone was trying to control its steering and attitude from a distance - a risky move that almost always ended up dumping the rider.

Seeker Harry was convinced that that was exactly the plan. Hermione Granger, convinced it was Snape, had set the man on fire, and the curse quickly ended. And that was that - a clumsy attempt at sabotage to favor his own house, who would have won if Harry had been injured or left the game. He hadn't thought much more about it since that day, given the other goings on in their lives. No one really gave it more thought than that, because truthfully, Snape's opinion of Harry Potter (all of them, as it turned out) was well known.

But when it came up in their conference, Chaser Potter had a thought. "What if it hadn't been Snape? What if it was Quirrell?" Snape, he reasoned, didn't make their scars ache when he was nearby, whereas Quirrell did. And setting a professor on fire tends to distract people nearby who might be casting detailed, intricate curses that require constant eye contact with the target - so Hermione may have stopped the curse, just more indirectly.

"It's possible," said Spellforged. "So why didn't he attack you during the same match, then?"

Chaser had thought about this. "I'm the rookie chaser, so I'm usually flying low and in the center of the pitch. If he tipped me off my broom, I'd fall maybe 20 feet. A good roll and I wouldn't even get scratched. Plus, no one watches the action that low - they're all watching high, where the goals are. So if he's leaning over the railing, staring at me, and I suddenly lose control of my broom? Nope, too obvious. I wasn't a good target that time."

Marigold saw exactly where this was going. "What in the hell do you mean, that time?"

Chaser sighed. "Well, I was thinking…" He laid out his plan, not mentioning that Oliver Wood had already signed off on it. Wood had liked the idea of switching up the formations, to keep their opponents guessing.

Seeker was the first to laugh. "If I lose tomorrow because I have you screaming in my head, we're going to have words, Mister Potter." The rest of the group chuckled at his somewhat successful attempt to emulate Professor McGonagall.

Harry had gotten rotated in the formation, so that he would be flying high on the side of the pitch with the Staff box. And watching would be his father and Director Bones of the DMLE. If Quirrell tried something, they could get to him quicker than a surprised Hermione from across the stadium. And if not, well, he had done falling drills since he was 8.

Best case, he gets a chance to show off for his dad. Worst case, he gets to expose Voldemort. Again. In front of the headmistress and the third highest ranking member of the Ministry. What did they say? On any given Saturday…?

Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson walked up to him then, listening to the crowd. Alicia Spinnet, the team's seeker, followed closely behind. The Weasley twins and Oliver Wood joined them before long. Wood launched into his pregame speech, though the rest of them likely had it memorized by now. It was just a regular match, to all appearances.

And as the teams took their traditional lap around the pitch, before lining up with Madam Hooch, everything felt normal. The crowd, the energy, it felt like a great day for quidditch. The whistle sounded, the teams took to the sky, and the game began.

Harry's pattern kept him to Keeper's left, midway between the goals, a little higher than normal. This let him arc an easy first goal through the hoop, over the head of the unsuspecting Hufflepuff keeper. 10-0. The Puffs returned the favor, coming low on the right side, evening the points. Katie Bell managed another goal from centre, before Angelina followed up with a goal of her own, putting the score at 30-10.

The second whistle sounded at five minutes, signaling the release of the snitch, and Alicia moved from her usual pattern to a more irregular one. Harry kept one eye on the staff box, and missed a pass he could have caught. Wood was unprepared, and missed the block - 30-20. "Harry!" He shouted.

"I know, boss, I know!" Harry replied. He saw Alicia dart after a streak of gold, and wondered if this might be over quickly, when it happened - his broom lurched to the side. _Shit_ , he thought. _Seeker really undersold how bad this gets_.

His hands remained locked on the broom, but that was proving more difficult by the minute. He tried to inch the broom further to Keeper's Left, hoping to make it to the stands if he had to bail. Fred had seen his problem at this point, and was taking a position underneath him, just in case.

A glance to the staff box told him that yes, Quirrell was staring in his direction and chanting. Their eyes met briefly and Harry felt a stab of pain in his scar. It took all of his willpower not to reach up and touch it, for to do so would topple him easily. He worked his upper body as much as he could, inching the broom left. Wood shouted at him, but he replied without looking back. "She has it, keep playing!"

He was close enough, now. This hadn't been his first plan, but sometimes you catch the quaffle, and sometimes the quaffle catches you. Inching his feet underneath him, he glanced over at his father, and the dawning look of horror on Lord Potter's face. _Old man's gonna kill me._ With a mighty grunt, he pushed off the broom.

A fall of twenty feet, yes, any good chaser could roll out of that. Unfortunately, there isn't much room to roll in a crowded grandstand, filled as it was with professors and VIPs and family.

Fortunately, for him at least, there was a conveniently placed DADA professor right in his flight path. Harry tumbled in the air, catching Quirrellmort in the chest with both feet. The man fell backwards, knocking over Professors Snape and Sprout.

As Harry regained his feet, the crowd erupted in cheers - but more for his teammate's quick catch of the snitch, he hoped, rather than his miraculous assault on a professor. He rolled his shoulders and began removing his gloves. "Headmistress!" He called. "I seem to have injured Professor Quirrell, Ma'am."

oOoOoOoOo

Ariana Dumbledore had been speaking with Madam Bones, the match only being a few minutes old. So she had not seen the attack on Harry's broom, nor had she caught his aerial acrobatics. Lord Potter had walked off a few moments ago, but she hadn't worried about it - James was probably getting a better look at his son's play.

Well, she was half right.

The Headmistress turned and saw the boy who lived helping Professor Sprout to her feet, while Severus Snape was trying to find reasons to curse the boy into oblivion. Quirrell was still on his back, groaning, but did not otherwise appear injured. Shaking her head, Dumbledore began moving down the stands.

As she approached, she saw Harry reach down with an ungloved hand, offering to help Quirrell up. The Professor, not seeing who it was, took the hand - and immediately screamed, for his bare hand was now a smoking, ashen ruin.

"Potter!" came the unearthly scream from the man - and from his turban, she noted. Out came the Elder Wand, along with half the wands in the box. Harry, meanwhile, grasped Quirrell's arm, his expression even.

"Not today," He said, quietly. _What?_ Ariana's breath stilled. _It couldn't be…?_

Quirrell let out another howl of pain, before his body began to deteriorate rapidly. A black cloud emerged from the man's turban. It seemed to be a fetid, evil thing, like a pestilence. Except this pestilence had a face, one she recognized. And a voice - a voice that everyone in the staff box heard.

"Potter, you cannot kill me. I am Voldemort! I am beyond your power!" the hissing, serpentlike speech was crystal clear to all who heard it. Before anyone could react, the wraith flew at Harry Potter, who stepped backwards and prepared to dodge.

Three shields appeared in front of him, turning the wraith away. It screeched in rage, before rising high over the pitch, disappearing into the clouds. Harry looked over to see the lowering wands of his father, Madam Bones, and - of all people - Professor Snape. James and Severus shared a look, but said nothing.

Amelia, meanwhile, caught her eye. Nodding, she caught the hint. "Perhaps we should reconvene in my office?" asked the headmistress.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry had enough time to tell the team that he was fine, before he and his father went up to the office. James, for his part, was perfectly willing to ignore the little stunt, seeing as how his son had somehow defeated Voldemort - again - but he had questions that would need answers. He told his son this, and got a quiet "Yes, sir" in return - which was surprising in its own way.

They approached the gargoyle, and James offered the password - "Manitoba." The Potters shared a look as the gargoyle slid aside - the Headmistress had been running down the list of Canadian Provinces for most of the term. It was a relatively safe password, given how much the wizarding world knew about geography.

Madam Bones was already waiting for them, as well as Professors McGonagall and Snape. The Headmistress had conjured seats for everyone, before leaning against the corner of her desk. "Gentlemen, please have a seat."

Dumbledore took her witch's hat off, setting it on her desk, before running a hand through her short grey hair. Then she looked at Harry. "Mister Potter, perhaps we should begin by asking if you knew that Voldemort was currently possessing one of my professors?" The unspoken question, heard nonetheless by everyone, was " _And if so, why not tell someone?_ "

Harry looked around the room at his family and professors. As much thought as he had given to his outing of Voldemort, he had not really considered how to explain the aftermath. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and turned back to the Headmistress.

"Ma'am, I did not know with any certainty that Professor Quirrell was possessed by anyone, let alone by Voldemort." He sighed. "If I had, I would have notified my head of house, of course."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at this. "But you did have concerns about Professor Quirrell, then?"

Harry looked sheepish. "It's my scar, ma'am. It would hurt whenever he glared at me. I took to avoiding contact with him whenever I could."

Professor McGonagall looked at him with alarm. "If you had pain in your scar, you should have said something."

"Maybe," Harry allowed. "But I don't know of anyone with a scar like this one," he lifted his fringe, revealing the scar on his forehead. "Personally, I chose to believe it was a reaction to dark magic and left it alone. It's not something I enjoy discussing, frankly." His father's hand on his shoulder steadied him down a little.

"No, indeed not." said the Headmistress, thoughtfully. "Mister Wood mentioned that you had changed your patterns for today's game, was that related to this incident?"

"No, ma'am." Harry answered again. "I'm in the junior slot, so I'd be low and center over the pitch. I, well, begging your pardon, ma'am, but I kind of wanted to show off for my father." He turned to James, whose expression had softened considerably. "He taught me how to play chaser, and I wanted him to see me up high, rather than down in the grass. So I talked to the girls and we swapped. They were fine with it."

"And they did win, Ariana. Even with Mister Potter indisposed for the last minute of the game." McGonagall could not keep her house pride out of her voice. Even with all that had transpired, a win is a win.

"Which only raises the question," began Madam Bones. "What happened to your broom, Harry?"

"Quirrell was trying to topple Mister Potter." said Professor Snape, from his corner of the room. "I was attempting a counter curse when Mister Potter's Gryffindor side decided to show itself, and he flung himself into thin air."

They considered that for a moment. With Voldemort in the driver's seat, poor stuttering Quirrell as the assailant made a sort of sense. Madam Bones broke the silence.

"Well, for my part, this seems open and shut." She looked at Harry. "Given what we learned here, I doubt they'd even ask you in for an interview. You had no way to know that the professor was possessed, and certainly not by Voldemort. You're clear, Harry." She turned to the headmistress. "We, however, will want to have a talk about how, exactly, a wraith of Voldemort is still out and about."

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course, Madam Bones."

Snape spoke up, at that point. "We should discuss points, I think."

James reacted poorly. "The boy just defeated Voldemort - AGAIN - and you're going to take points?"

"Lord Potter," Snape drawled. "Think it through, for once. The staff knows what happened. The students will only know that Potter landed on Quirrell, and that Quirrell no longer teaches at Hogwarts. His unseemly manner of death need not be paraded about for public consumption." He turned to Harry. "Now, let me see. Five Points to Gryffindor for escaping a dangerous situation in as safe a manner as could be managed. Twenty points _from_ Gryffindor for assaulting a professor." Snape held up his hand to silence the protests. "And fifty points to Gryffindor for revealing a threat to the school."

Thirty-five points seemed pretty small, given what had happened. But coming from Snape, that was a treasure. "That sounds fair, Professor."

"We're agreed, then. And Mister Potter?" The Headmistress looked at him, a soft twinkle in her eyes. "I trust that your next performance on the Quidditch pitch will not be so dramatic?"

Harry grinned. "Of course not, ma'am."

As James and Amelia led him back to the locker rooms at the pitch, Harry sent his thoughts to the link. _So, you remember that crazy plan that no one thought would work? Well, have I got a story for you…_

* * *

 **A/N: Sometimes, you write the characters, and sometimes the characters write themselves. Chaser Harry has spent years learning how to be a Chaser, and is more comfortable on a broom than Canon Harry - which says something. So, if he thought this crazy plan had a reasonable chance of success? Yes, he would absolutely divebomb Voldemort from a broomstick in front of the entire staff and his father. No doubt in my mind. It was also a welcome change of pace from the Trials of the past few chapters.**

 **The hardest decision I've had to make, so far, was whether to let a professor give the line "Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mister Potter, for incinerating a Professor." It's not a coverup, here, but it's a very Dumbledore rug-sweep. Which works for all concerned.**

 **Speaking of Headmistress Dumbledore - this is indeed Albus Dumbledore, born female. I choose to believe that the family went with their go-to name on the if-it's-a-girl list, and named her Ariana. How this impacts her younger sister will be discussed much later. I'm not one to fantasy cast my works, but I pictured a taller Judi Dench in the role, fwiw. Your mileage may vary. It's a less important change than one might think, made merely to add flavor to the differences between worlds. For now, at least.**

 **Thank you again for the feedback, the dozens of follows, and the support on discord and elsewhere. All is appreciated and welcome.**


	15. Enter, Stranger

The sheer audacity of Chaser's plan - and its success - had kept the five talking all week, on and off. Seeker responded with something along the lines of "Wish I'd thought of that", while everyone could feel Rose's eyeroll as she muttered something about "Bloody Gryffindors…"

Marigold found herself scolding Chaser for taking such a risk, only to learn that - as expected - his Hermione had already given him a thorough scolding of her own.

It was a side comment, made almost without thought, that caught Spellforged's attention. "Wait a second, back up. What do you mean, Hagrid is taking Fluffy home?"

"Well, you know that corridor on the third floor? The murder hallway? The one we're to avoid if we don't want a painful death? Well, apparently, Hagrid had a trained Cerberus named Fluffy guarding something there." Chaser didn't get the big deal, he and Ron had given the hallway a wide berth after finding the three-headed dog one late night.

"We had one too," said Marigold. "I haven't bothered with it, and no one has said anything."

"So did we," said Rose. "Crabbe and Goyle found it in September, and soiled their robes doing a runner." She paused. "And now that you mention it, no one has said anything since November."

"Well," said Chaser, "Whatever it was guarding has been moved, so they brought the dog back to the forest with Hagrid. Percy made a big deal about it, we were locked into the common room when they moved her."

"So, to review." said Spellforged, an edge creeping into his voice. "You defeat Voldemort, again. And the next week a priceless item being guarded by at least a 4x-class creature is suddenly relocated. Mari and Rose have already dealt with their Quirrells, so if their corridor is empty…"

Seeker picked up the thread. "But ours is still guarded… Merlin, they wouldn't?"

Spellforged sighed. "They might. The question is this - were they setting a trap for whoever wanted to possess a teacher and enter the school, or did they specifically target Voldemort?"

"And if they targeted Voldemort," said Rose, "Then someone knew that he didn't die all those years ago. And we have a problem."

Over the next few days, Marigold and Rose both checked the third floor corridor. Seeker and Spellforged visited the hallway as well - and confirmed the group's fears.

"Empty," Marigold said, without preamble.

"Same." Said Rose.

"Not mine," reported Seeker. "Fluffy wouldn't have been my first pick for names with that one, no sir."

Spellforged was quiet. This was exactly what father would want to get called in for - but the more he thought about it, the more he talked himself into doing something… well, Gryffindor.

Rose caught it. "Spellforged, this isn't a confunded troll."

"I know, I know." He replied. The others began to discuss what the cerberus might be guarding. Rose, meanwhile, wondered whether Spellforged would go it alone again.

oOoOoOoOo

Whether intentionally or not, Hagrid himself gave Spellforged the key to passing Fluffy. The small wooden flute, an unexpected christmas gift, served him well. Once Hagrid had carved it slightly to change the register, it worked for many old goblin tunes - songs Spellforged knew by heart. It took only a few minutes to lull the creature to sleep.

The trap door was unlocked. Spellforged dropped down.

The devil's snare, that he had not expected. He pulled out the dagger his father had given him for his birthday, this past summer, as a gift. Goblins who leave their home warren will usually receive such a gift, as they make their way in the world. Rarely were such blades enchanted, as his had been, but being Director of Gringott's gave Ragnok some privileges.

Sending a pulse of magic into the blade, Harry watched as it lengthened, narrowing slightly as it did so. When it was a foot in length, he began trimming the snare. A few judicious cuts, and he was free.

The next room brought him to a set of flying keys, one of which probably unlocked the door. After this summer, he could probably just unlock the door directly, using Goblin magic - but that was, as yet, a trick beyond his training. Harry Spellforged knew just two spells of the Goblin discipline, both useful for even the most junior of tellers in Gringott's.

The first would lockdown a room, useful for capturing a fleeing thief or securing a vault. The second, though - that would detect and reveal glamours and compulsions. Gringott's liked to know who they were dealing with, after all, and that people doing business were acting on their own.

He couldn't dispel those glamours, nor could he end an imperius - he wasn't at that level, and knew it. But when there was a real key enchanted to look like the fake ones? That, he could handle.

Spellforged held his hand up to the cloud of keys and spoke the incantation. Nothing happened. Wait a second, there, above his head - one key was glowing purple. A quick broom ride brought him in reach easily, and before long the door was open.

The next room almost stopped him. Almost.

Seven statues stood at one end of a board, in a pattern of four and three, with an empty row in between. The statues were separated in each row by one space, highlighting that they stood on what looked like a chess board. Unlike a chessboard, however, there were no other pieces - just armored soldiers. The squares they stood on were red, and a matching set of squares at the other end of the board were green. Above the far door, the only marking was a green circle, below which was the phrase _Gluais air an taigh_.

Beside the board, there was a stone pillar. The top of the pillar was angled, and on its face was carved a chessboard. Seven spaces on the left were green, while seven on the right glowed red. Spellforged tapped one of the red spaces with his wand, and saw the corresponding statue rotate a quarter turn - along with another, unrelated statue that rotated in the opposite direction. Now, he saw that the other statues faced different directions, and for each one he rotated, two turned.

A yellow square was glowing, at the bottom of the panel. Spellforged touched it, and all seven statues stepped forward.

Gluais air an taigh. It was Gaelic. _Move along home._ Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall.

Cracking his knuckles, Spellforged began rotating his pieces. The odd number meant that there was some combination of turns that would get them all where they needed to be - facing the green. Then he could march them across, before turning them and swapping the rows.

It was a masterfully crafted puzzle, involving strategy, transfiguration, runes, and patience - both for the crafter and the player. _This could not be a trap for Voldemort,_ he thought. _The man would blast his way through._ As he continued to manipulate the pieces, the thought bothered Spellforged, but he set it aside.

It took just over forty minutes to work out the patterns and solve the puzzle. Once all seven soldiers stood on the green tiles, they raised their swords, and the far door opened. Spellforged drew his still-lengthened dagger and stepped through.

And found a troll.

Spellforged almost attacked before he realized - the troll was in stasis. Perhaps there was a trigger in the room, or failure to complete the puzzle in the previous room would unleash the creature. However it was planned, the result was a very quiet Ravenclaw sneaking past the frozen troll.

The potions puzzle was the simplest one he had found - after he detected the glamoured poison. Which also bothered him, somewhat - if this were truly intended as a defense, then use seven bottles of poison! Use all the poison, then leave a failsafe to allow access to the item by its keeper. Either this is important enough to properly defend, or it isn't. Again, Spellforged wondered who these traps were actually for. One drink of the correct potion, and he stepped through the flames.

There, in what seemed like an unused classroom, was an ornate mirror. Spellforged approached it, blade in hand.

In the mirror, Spellforged saw himself, surrounded by his parents. His birth parents, clearly, followed by adoptive - and how wonderful it felt to see Lily Potter hugging Anna Sullivan, while a grinning Ragnok shook hands with James Potter. All four looked at the tall Ravenclaw with obvious pride.

Then other figures appeared beside him. A Slytherin girl with black hair stood on his right, while a red-haired Gryffindor joined him on his left. Both were flanked by two raven-haired lions in quidditch gear - Seeker and Chaser.

Spellforged did not notice that they wore his face. He knew them, as them - who else could they be?

He watched himself in the mirror, and saw his reflection mouthing a phrase in the Goblin tongue. He needed no translation, for he knew it by heart - its English version graced the walls of his home. **/** _ **Thief, you have been warned, beware./**_ His reflection's face was not unkindly, the smile still reached his eyes, as his arms wrapped around his 'sisters'. But his eyes were intent - this was another test.

 **/I seek no treasure for my own. Voldemort comes to steal the item. I would secure it with the Headmaster./**

Reflection Spellforged looked at him, weighing him. The others, he noticed, were watching him closely as well. His reflection then spoke again. **/** _ **Would you swear on it?/**_

Spellforge scoffed. **/I just did./**

The reflection nodded. That was the correct answer - the Goblin answer. Spellforged felt a weight in his robe pocket, and reached in. He pulled out a red stone, glowing faintly with its own internal brilliance. His eyes went back to the mirror, where his reflection grinned at him.

oOoOoOoOo

Albus Dumbledore looked up when his office door opened, admitting Harry Spellforged and Professor Flitwick, his head of house. Flitwick carefully closed and latched the door behind him, before taking a seat next to Harry.

"Gentlemen, good afternoon. What can I do for you today?"

Spellforged looked at his head of house, who returned the look and nodded. Then he reached into his robes and pulled out a small item. Standing, he placed it in the centre of the Headmaster's desk with a resounding THUMP.

It was the Philosopher's Stone.

Dumbledore's eyes grew wide as Spellforged spoke. "Headmaster, we have a problem." He nodded to the stone, now in the Headmaster's hands, as it was examined. "I assure you, this is the authentic stone, retrieved from the mirror about, oh, forty-five minutes ago."

The Headmaster sighed. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you?" He then looked at Spellforged. "May I ask who accompanied you through the obstacles?"

Another glance to Flitwick. "I chose not to place my friends at risk, sir. Besides, some of my tricks work well for one, but multiple people would have gotten in each other's way. I made the attempt on my own."

Dumbledore set the stone back on his desk. "Well done, then, Mister Spellforged. Seventy-five points to Ravenclaw, I should think." Flitwick and Spellforged just looked at him, neither acknowledging the points. "Is there another matter?"

Spellforged sighed. "Mister Hagrid provided the Cerberus. Professor Sprout and the Devil's Snare. Professor Flitwick and the keys. Professors Babbling and McGonagall for the logic puzzle, which likely would have triggered Professor Quirrell and the Troll if bypassed. Then we had Professor Snape, and a simple potions puzzle." He nodded to the Headmaster. "And finally, the mirror, which I assume was your own work, sir." He received a nod in turn from Dumbledore.

"It was." Dumbledore replied. "May I ask how you defeated the mirror, Harry?"

"Of course," replied Spellforged. "My reflection challenged me, and I stated that I wanted the item to secure it with you. Then he asked me to swear an oath. Any other wizard would have done so, and failed the test." Off Dumbledore's look, he grinned. "It's a cultural thing, sir. If a Goblin publicly says something, they either know it to be true or believe so strongly that it is true that they willingly risk their honor. A Goblin who would not swear to the truth of a statement would not make that statement. So when he asked if I would swear an oath, I gave the only answer I could - that I just had."

"Remarkable." Said Dumbledore. "Well done, then."

"Thank you, sir." Spellforged acknowledged. "Guarding treasures is sort of our thing, we Goblins, and my reflection demonstrated that. Unfortunately, If this were a vault, then all but the final protection was insecure. Each could be bypassed by a first year student, if given time and patience. So, protecting the item was not the primary goal here." He looked closely at the Headmaster. "If the goal was to test a student or students, well done - I quite enjoyed it, and apart from the moderate danger at some points, others might do the same. The logic puzzle, in particular, was inspired."

"If, on the other hand, the obstacles and the mirror were part of a trap, perhaps for someone else, then we may have a different problem altogether." Spellforged looked at Professor Flitwick.

"Albus," the Ravenclaw head of house began. "Mister Spellforged asserts that Professor Quirrell is possessed, and that there is evidence to suggest that he is possessed by you-know-who himself. Maybe a shade of the Dark Lord, maybe just the Dark Lord's spirit, but either option is bad."

Dumbledore turned white. Spellforged watched his expression carefully - this was one meeting he would _definitely_ be recounting to the five. He couldn't be sure, but there was something in the man's eyes that suggest something less than shock. _Did he know?_

"My recommendation, sir," said Spellforged, "is that you render Professor Quirrell unconscious and then administer the Draught of the Living Death to keep him in stasis, until you can find a way to separate him from Voldemort. If Voldemort realizes that Quirrell is captured, he will do a runner and we are chasing a ghost."

"Indeed," replied Dumbledore, absently. He turned to the professor. "Filius?"

Flitwick looked at his Headmaster. "Albus, I wish I could refute Mister Spellforged's logic, but I cannot. Quirinus has done little out of the ordinary, but it is as if his entire personality changed over the last few weeks of summer. That would fit a possession. And then you have the matter of the attacks in the forest, which might be explained by someone trying to maintain a long-term possession." he sighed again. "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I must concur with Mister Spellforged."

Dumbledore nodded. "I will take it under advisement, Mister Spellforged." He saw the ravenclaw begin to object, and raised a hand. "Let it stand that we cannot make such a decision until we are ready to implement it, lest we warn our target. The professors and I will take any necessary steps. I would ask you to let the matter be, Harry. Agreed?"

Spellforged nodded. "I can do that. Thank you, sir."

"No, my boy, it is we who should thank you." The office door unlocked. "If there is nothing further, your head of house and I need to make plans."

Rising, Spellforged nodded. "Just one question, sir. If I may, why me?"

Dumbledore rose as well, looking at the boy. "I'm sorry?"

"Why the Potters, rather. Why did Voldemort attack us? Why is he here again?" Spellforged lifted his hair, indicating his scar. "Why does my scar hurt when I look at Quirrell?"

Dumbledore looked at the ravenclaw for half a minute. _The boy is so young. Even so, he is wise beyond his years, he could handle the prophecy._ But then he carried that thought forward. _But could his father?_ In the end, Albus Dumbledore gave the only response he could.

"Ah, well. That, my boy, is a conversation for another day." The Headmaster smiled his most grandfatherly smile. "Some answers are long in coming. Perhaps we will find yours together."

"Perhaps so. Thank you, Headmaster. Professor." Spellforged acknowledged both men, before turning and leaving the office. As the door closed, Flitwick's expression hardened.

"Albus, we need to talk." Dumbledore sighed, resuming his seat.

oOoOoOoOo

In the corridor, Spellforged sighed and rolled his shoulders. Despite his comments to the Headmaster, it _had_ been a long day's work for the first year. But the day was not yet over.

Pulling a small mirror from his robes, Spellforged looked down. He smiled at the activation phrase, for who would call their father by his title?

 **/Director/** , he said. A moment later, his father's wrinkled visage appeared.

 **/Son?/** the Goblin leader responded.

 **/We need to talk./** Spellforged said, simply.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you again for all of the feedback, and for the (50!) follows and favorites and reviews and whatnot.**

 **We have more to do before hitting summer, and lots of people will be very busy. Stay tuned.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	16. Back Channels

Seeker Harry found himself in the library alone. And that bothered him not at all.

 _Dumbledore set a trap for Voldemort,_ he thought, considering everything Spellforged had told them the previous week. _Dumbledore set a trap that could be defeated by a lone first year._

None of them were sure what that meant, exactly. Had Dumbledore - any of them - planned to set the students against the obstacle course, to see how they did? Warning them about a painful death seemed to be a calculated move, in hindsight - for how else to draw students in than with the promise of danger?

Or was the test more specific? Spellforged seemed to think that the test had been built with them in mind. Dumbledore had seemed to expect that Harry would have brought a team of students to defeat the various obstacles, and had been surprised when he went it alone. But considering each room, Spellforged felt as if the course had been designed with a Gryffindor Harry in mind, rather than the Ravenclaw that showed up in September.

Seeker could see the thinking behind it, when he looked at it that way. The Devil's Snare screams Neville Longbottom, their year's herbology master. Flying keys and broomsticks? Simple work for Seeker or Chaser alike. The Logic Puzzle would be a simple one for Ron - it was even laid out on a chessboard. Pass that, and the troll would remain frozen, but they had already taken a troll down once this year anyway. Hermione could decipher any potions riddle. And Harry had already seen the Mirror. Between his experience with it and Spellforged's success at learning its secret, he anticipated no problems.

So. Why test them in such a way? And why use such a priceless treasure as the Philosopher's Stone to bait the trap? The risk of the stone falling into Voldemort's hands, however slight, was still there - and such a result would be utter disaster.

It was that risk that had Harry in the library. He wanted to know more about the stone, if possible. He couldn't wrap his brain around _why_. Why them? Why now? Why this trap, this year? Did Dumbledore know that Voldemort was already in the bloody castle?

A book landed on the table next to him, jolting Harry out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry, what?" He looked up and found a tall, blonde Slytherin girl staring back at him. Remembering himself, he stood.

She seemed to be fighting her own impulse to chuckle. Even with her tightly controlled expression of solemnity, he could see a bit of a twinkle in her blue eyes.

"I said, Heir Potter," she began, "May I sit down?"

Harry blinked at her, then slid his books to the end of the table. "Please do." He watched her set her bag down in a nearby chair. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met."

"No, no we have not." She held out her hand. "Daphne Greengrass."

He nodded, placing a kiss on her knuckles as he had been taught. _Thanks, Rose_. They took their seats, across the table from one another. "Heiress Greengrass, a pleasure. What can I do for you today?"

Daphne reached into her bag and retrieved a folded parchment. This, she slid across the table. Harry saw a green wax seal on the closure.

"My father thanks you for your letter, and asked me to deliver his response in person." She said, her formal tone giving the impression of a rehearsed speech.

Harry took the letter, setting it aside. "Thank you, Miss Greengrass. Your father did me a great service last month, and I - and my godfather - are in his debt."

Daphne nodded. "While my father had little to do with Lord Black during school, he does trust Madam Bones and Lord Hillyer. When your proxy's passion for the issue became clear, he could do little else than support the Potters." She tilted her head, considering the Gryffindor before her. "Though I have wondered how they were able to orchestrate Lord Black's release. It isn't easy to catch the Minister so unaware."

Harry chuckled at that. "You would be surprised how tenacious a Senior Accounts Manager at Gringott's can be, when they catch wind of something big. Something like, say, one of their major clients being held for a decade without trial." He shrugged. "I expected something to happen, but that wasn't it - however pleased I am with the result."

"What do you mean, you expected something?"

Harry smiled. "I was researching my godparents, and learned that Sirius had declared me his heir when I was born. So if he is the last Black, and young Mister Malfoy is _not_ known to be the heir, could it be me? So I asked Steelclaw, the Black account manager, if I was listed as the Heir Black." He leaned back in his chair, grinning. "And then the Wizengamot exploded."

Daphne could not keep the shock off of her face. _He brings the Wizengamot to a halt and frees one of the most hated men in Wizarding Britain, all with one letter?_ She couldn't help but be impressed by such a feat.

"I'm told," Harry continued. "That my family had allies, in and out of the Wizengamot. Madam Bones was certainly a help, as nothing would have happened if she had not kept an open mind. And there's Madam Longbottom, who took me to the trial. She and Neville have been coaching me a bit on how to handle all of this." he gestured at her. "And there's your father."

She nodded in acknowledgement. "The Potters have long been allied with the Houses of Bones and Longbottom. We, on the other hand, try very hard to remain neutral."

Harry nodded. "I can see the value of that. Especially when tossers in masks would show up at your home if you voted the wrong way. That's why we had a proxy all these years."

"We kept most of our wealth on the continent during the last war," Daphne said. "So here, it seemed as if we had had a few bad years. Not enough galleons to bother extorting." She shrugged. "We kept ourselves out of the public eye, as much as we could. My mother had friends in the light, including your mother, actually. And father was associated with several of his darker classmates from Slytherin. Both sides ignored us."

A smile played across Harry's features, puzzling Daphne. _Spellforged mentioned something like this. I wonder…_ "Tell me, Miss Greengrass. How much do you know about the muggle Cold War?"

"A Cold War? Nothing." She replied. _OK, we start at the beginning, then._ Harry took out a blank sheet of parchment, writing two names on its surface.

Spellforged had told the tale to the five months ago, when talk of Quidditch strategy had turned to a discussion of how a goblin might do as chaser. That led to Spellforged talking about how Goblin children are trained, and how they fight - which, when he compared that training to muggle tactics, led to the Hiroshima talk, as Marigold phrased it later. Spellforged admitted, the next week, that he regretted the deep dive into history - but the others did not, eventually. At the time, _Merlin_.

Goblins almost always found themselves dwarfed by their opponents. They lacked a height advantage. They lacked a range advantage, even with blades. Goblin magic was not well suited for ranged combat. So Goblin tactics focused on speed - deadly, brutal, swift strikes that ended the fight quickly. Every dodge brought them closer to the target, not further. Every strike prepared the next. Wizarding Duelists had spell chains, where one wand motion flowed into another. Goblins had the same with their blades.

It was this context that led Ragnok, one day, to teach Spellforged about the muggle world war. And about Hiroshima. And, later, the Cold War. Spellforged had found it a fascinating discussion of very Goblin-like tactics. The other four, meanwhile, had found the concept horrifying.

"Shortly after the end of Grindelwald's war," Harry began, "The muggle side of it was ending as well. And to end the war, the muggles built what they called the nuclear bomb." He sighed heavily. "Take the biggest blasting curse you can think of. How big would the blast be?"

Daphne shrugged. "Fifteen, maybe twenty feet?"

Harry nodded. "Alright. The Americans decided to show their enemies, the Japanese, that they could attack their home islands without being attacked in turn. Essentially, that they could kill everyone on the islands, at will. They dropped a nuclear bomb on the city of Hiroshima."

Harry then crossed off the name of the city. "Everything within one mile of the blast was destroyed. Buildings turned to ash, forests were incinerated. And over one hundred and twenty thousand people died or were injured." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that." He ignored Daphne's look of horror and crossed Nagasaki off as well. "Three days later, they dropped another bomb on the city of Nagasaki. Another eighty thousand people died, either from the blast or from their injuries. One week later, Japan surrendered."

"Merlin." whispered Daphne. That muggles could do this? Nothing short of madness.

"As with all muggles, of course, they continued to build bigger bombs. And no one wanted the Americans to have all the fun." He turned over the parchment, then drew two big circles. One was marked USA and the other was marked Russia. "The Americans didn't like the Russians, and the Russians didn't like the Americans. So both countries started building bigger and bigger bombs." He drew a line between them. "But they never fought directly. They could have, and they almost did a few times, but they mostly just fought with words. Thus, a cold war."

"Eventually, it got to the point where each country could see when the bombs were launched, and could bomb the other country before the cursed things landed. So if one country attacked,"

Daphne kept her eyes on the paper. "Both would die."

"Correct. This is scary as hell!" Harry pointed at the paper. "Who in their right bloody mind would think this is a good idea?" He looked at her again, and she once more met his eyes. "It would almost be like setting three fourths of a school against the remaining fourth."

Daphne said nothing, but now began to understand where he was going with this.

"There were a few Russians and a few Americans who understood what was happening. Quietly, so very quietly, they reached out to each other. They talked, when they could. They kept lines of communication open." His eyes held hers, as he spoke. "They hoped, against hope, to stave off disaster."

A quiet voice. "Did they?"

Harry rolled the parchment up, placing it back in his bag. "We're still here, aren't we? But yes, generally it worked. And I hope something similar might work here, as well."

Daphne eyed him with curiosity. "What do you have in mind, Mister Potter? I don't know that my father will agree to anything official."

Harry shook his head. "No, I think he might. Eventually. But I'm eleven - I don't need to be orchestrating alliances and dashing through the halls of the Wizengamot brokering deals." They chuckled at the mental image. "But I'm referring to you, Miss Greengrass."

 _Me?_ "Go on," Daphne said, cautiously.

"Well, look at Hogwarts. Gryffindors are almost required to hate Slytherins, and placing our houses in the same classes just makes it worse. Snape's class alone does more to tear down the peace between the houses than any other."

"Professor Snape," she said, automatically. He was her head of house, after all.

"As you say," he replied. "Do you know, Hagrid took me to get my supplies at Diagon Alley?" her look of surprised drew another chuckle. "Want to know how many times he talked down about Slytherin? Want to guess how many times he talked about how wonderful Gryffindor was?"

"Quite a bit, I imagine." She replied.

"Yup." He sighed. "And when I learned that Draco Malfoy was going to be in Slytherin, all I could think of was that I couldn't stand the little git." He grinned when that comment got a snort of laughter from Daphne - and a dirty look from Madam Pince.

"So, the hat?" she asked.

"Yes. It almost put me in Slytherin." He got a bit of a faraway look that she could not interpret. "And I know for a fact that I could have done well in the house of snakes." He leaned forward. "The houses are useful. But they divide us. And I think it's garbage."

Daphne nodded, almost without thinking - a rare slip. She looked at him. "So, you have a plan."

He nodded. "I would like to be friends with you, Miss Greengrass." He raised a hand. "Not publicly, because I know that creates a risk for you. Perhaps someday. But for now, all I would ask is that we speak on occasion. That we build a bridge across the house divide."

She got it now. "That we keep an open line of communication."

"In hopes of staving off disaster." he agreed. "You get a source of information in Gryffindor. And I, hopefully, get a friend who doesn't wear red and gold." Her grin at that last matched his own.

Daphne looked at the Gryffindor, considering her options. She knew her parents would want her to say yes, of course. And introducing the boy-who-lived to her sister had its own appeal, at least to her. But the reality was that she enjoyed their conversation. She liked that he knew something about strategy and politics, even if it was muggle. And his maneuvering around the Wizengamot last month had been nothing less than brilliant, from her father's telling.

Harry Potter was someone she wanted to get to know.

"Do you realize, I wonder, that I would be getting the better end of this deal?" She asked, almost without thinking. To her surprise, he nodded.

"Yeah, I kinda do." He grinned again, holding out his hand. "I consider it a long-term investment."

Finally, after all that, she actually laughed. Then she shook his hand.

"Thank you, Miss Greengrass." He said, as they both stood and gathered their books.

"Please," she said in a whisper, having caught the look Madam Pince was giving them. "Call me Daphne."

He nodded, matching his whisper to her own. "Only if you call me Harry."

oOoOoOoOo

"I _told_ you!" Rose crowed, triumphantly. She had not coached Seeker on how to win Daphne's confidence, but had told him to be honest with her - a tactic that clearly worked.

"Yes, yes you did." Agreed Seeker. "When I figure out how to do it, I'll send you your ten galleons." He could hear her chuckle over the link.

More and more, they got snippets of emotion alongside their thoughts. Was the link growing stronger, they wondered? Spellforged offered that as a project for the summer, to which they all agreed. But that raised another topic.

"We need to start thinking about summer." said Marigold.

"If we don't want you three to go back to the Dursleys, we'll need to have an alternative in place." replied Spellforged. "Sirius is probably going to be recovering for a while, so he is out - at least for this summer."

"What I want to know is _why_ you were placed there at all." said Chaser. "Madam Bones, Madam Longbottom, either one would have taken us in. Sirius hadn't even been arrested when you were delivered to Surrey. So why there?"

"I think the Greengrasses could have been convinced to take us, as well." Rose said. "Daphne's mother was a bridesmaid at our parents' wedding."

"I have another worry. If we get someone to agree to take us for the summer, would the Dursleys have to agree?" Marigold asked. She doubted they would agree to anything, whether due to spite or out of fear of the _freaks_. "Madam Bones agreed to look into my custody after Christmas, so maybe she can find something we can use."

Rose wondered about her own options. Lady Greengrass had almost stated outright that she planned to try to get custody of her for good. Her husband had assumed, when they med for the trial, that Rose would be visiting over the summer. But one does not just ask her friend's parents to take her in for an indefinite period. Hermione might take her in, but again - that wasn't something you asked.

Seeker's options were thinner still. His contacts were mostly students - outside of Gryffindor, he was friends with Susan Bones and, now, Daphne Greengrass. Neither were at the "can I live with you?" stage. Nor had Madam Longbottom hinted at anything along those lines, even though Neville's mother was his godmother.

So while the five discussed the topic for a while longer, all knew that they would need more information. And a little bit of luck.

oOoOoOoOo

Petunia Dursley heard the doorbell ring the following Monday morning. Straightening her dress, she wondered who it could be.

The door opened on three workmen, flanking a man in an expensive suit.

"Good morning, Missus…" The man in the suit looked down at a clipboard. "Dursley, ah, there we go. My name is Robert Fitzpatrick, and I'm a solicitor representing the Peregrine Trust. May we come in?"

The name of the firm sounded vaguely familiar, but Petunia couldn't place it. She did know, however, that she didn't want these people on her front step. "Of course," she said, stepping side.

"Brilliant, thank you." The four men entered the home, walking quietly into the living room.

Once they were seated, and Petunia had served tea, Fitzpatrick handed her a card. She looked at it closely, but it seemed to be a perfectly ordinary card.

 _The Peregrine Trust  
_ _Investments - Development  
_ _Robert Fitzpatrick, Executive Director  
_ _Edinburgh, Scotland, UK_

"As I'm sure you know," he began, "Your home was built as a wedding present by a, um," Fitzpatrick consulted his paperwork again. "Ah, yes, a James and Lily Potter."

Petunia nodded. "Yes. Though they still charged us rent." She didn't want to discuss her sister, even as they sat in a house she had purchased as an olive branch, so long ago. However misguided that attempt at peace had ultimately been.

"True. After their unfortunate passing, ownership devolved to the Peregrine Trust, as per the instructions in the will of Lily Potter. After twenty years of tenancy, and with continued lease payments, the home will be transferred to your name, free of any liens or mortgages." he looked up from his notes. "And since that time, your cost has remained fixed at the original 1979 lease rates." He nodded. "Quite a savings, I would think."

Petunia nodded, sipping her tea.

"Unfortunately, that lease is part of why I'm here today. See, we remain the owners of record. Our firm manages dozens of homes in Surrey alone. Though, I have to say," he waved his hand, indicating the room. "This is certainly one of the nicer ones."

"Thank you," Petunia said. She still didn't like where this was going.

"But even so, we are required by law to certify that each house we own is safe and up to code." Fitzpatrick looked at her apologetically. "These gentlemen are here to evaluate the home. It should take no more than five minutes, and they just have to check a few things. Since you are home, we'd like your permission to do so."

Fitzpatrick did not miss the sudden tension in the woman, nor did he miss her blink-and-you-miss-it glance at the cupboard.

"If it's that brief, you have my permission." She said, haughtily.

"Excellent!" Fitzpatrick said, standing up. "This gentleman here is Mister Davison, he'll want to have a look at your backyard, if you can show him around. We can do the rest from in this room." As he spoke, one of the men took out a small handheld device, almost like a calculator.

Petunia rose as well, nodding. She suddenly wanted them the hell out of her house, and if walking out back will make that quicker, she was all for it. "Very well. Come along, then." The two walked to the back of the house. Once the rear door slid shut, Fitzpatrick looked over at the other workers and nodded. Both pulled out wands and began performing diagnostic charms.

Fitzpatrick, meanwhile, looked intently at the cupboard. He did not open the door. He didn't need to.

Three minutes later, both men nodded to him - just in time, as the back door was opening again. "You do keep a lovely home, ma'am." Davison was saying, in his most soothing tone.

"Thank you," she replied, frostily.

"Well, madam, we don't want to take any more of your time. I expect it'll be awhile before we need to return - though we do have to visit the property at least once every few years, you understand."

She nodded. "I understand, Mister Fitzpatrick. Thank you for your time." She opened the front door and waited.

"Indeed," he replied. "Call me if you or your husband have any questions, ma'am. Good day." They walked out, and the door slammed behind them.

The four walked to their work van, finding a fifth wizard in the driver's seat. "You were right, Bob, there were blood wards." He handed over a parchment, the results of the diagnostics his fellows had performed inside.

Fitzpatrick reviewed the list of wards. "Am I reading this correctly?"

He got a nod in return. The workman, Mister Christopher, pointed at the line showing the targeted wards. "Whoever set this up tried to get clever. This confirms what you told us at the office."

Fitzpatrick sighed. He hated being right. "OK, lads, let's head back and write this up. The client will want to see this." The van started up, and took the group away from Privet Drive.

 _Hopefully, for good,_ thought Fitzpatrick. He pulled out a parchment and a dictaquill. He had a letter to write.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **The idea of keeping the back channels open is a real one, but might best be articulated by the late Tom Clancy in _The Sum of All Fears_. I got a bit further into the weeds than planned when Hiroshima came up, but realized that no, Daphne would have no idea how "disaster" a disaster might get between two nuclear powers. And geopolitics is politics, even if muggle. It's a bit heavy for openers, but I presume Rose tipped him off that the politics angle might hold her interest. And it worked, so yay?**

 **Mind, this is a Canon Harry who has Spellforged as a tutor, who has Rose and Chaser Potter as coaches in Wizarding culture, supported by his own Neville and that of Marigold, who has almost learned more from him than Rose learned from Daphne. In short, he has more knowledge at hand, and more confidence. He hears that precise voice of command from Spellforged - that "Leader of men" voice - and realizes that that could be him. The success of the trial brought him to the realization that he might actually be able to pull off this "Lord Potter" nonsense. So if he seems a bit more mature than canon, he's had some good influences. But he's still, mostly, our boy - as we'll see.**

 **One review asked about the lack of Hufflepuff members of the five. I agree! It would have been nice to fit one in. But I came at it from the angle of the characters - for each of them, with their histories, which house made sense?**

 **-Canon Harry goes to the Lions, of course. He's the baseline, at least initially.  
**

 **-Heir Potter, raised by his Gryffindor father and uncles? No chance he lands anywhere else.  
**

 **-Marigold Potter? Wracked by guilt over a brother she never knew? Gryffindor would honor him, whereas Hufflepuff would feel (to her) like turning her back on her parents and brother. (Remember, she grew up thinking the Harry she heard in her head was her dead brother. Honoring him would not be alien to her.)  
**

 **-Rose Potter? There's backstory here we haven't gotten into, yet, but a girl with trust issues and a knife in her boot? Canon Harry was close to Slytherin, and her issues tip the balance toward the house of the snakes.**

 **-Spellforged? I will admit, Harry Crow put the idea of a Ravenclaw Harry in my head. But when it came down to it, this Harry is much more of a scholar than any of the others. This version of Ragnok would make sure of it. He still has a lot of Gryffindor in him, as we've seen, but I think it's a good fit. (Also, Flitwick)**

 **So that's a bit of a look at how the sausage was made. Other sortings have a lot of thought behind them as well (Looking at you, Lord Hillyer from Horned Serpent), but we'll get into all that as we go.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	17. The Boy with Two Blades

Hermione entered the common room to find Neville and Ron huddled over a parchment. The fact that it was Sunday afternoon made her curious - while Neville might be working on homework, Ron definitely wouldn't.

"What's going on?" She asked, sitting down on the nearest chair. The boys looked at each other, then back at her.

"Ron was telling me about your research project, and thought I might be able to help." said Neville.

"Research project?" Hermione didn't understand, at first.

"The one about Nicolas Flamel." She turned to see Seeker Harry coming down the stairs from the boy's rooms. "I know what Fluffy is guarding."

Hermione started to ask about it, when she saw the coil of rope over Harry's shoulder. Then her eyes narrowed. "You're not."

"No," he answered, sitting next to her. "But we are."

"We are, what, exactly?" She asked, angrily. It was bad enough that he got into so many adventures, the least he could do is ask before dragging her along.

Harry gave her a grin. "We're going to stop Quirrell from stealing the Philosopher's Stone."

It took her a moment. Then she hit him. "Harry James Potter, you are not going to fight a Cerberus just to prove… whatever it is you want to prove."

 _Now I owe Rose another ten galleons,_ Harry thought. She had called it - and Hermione hit _hard_.

"Quirrell is into some bad stuff, Hermione." Harry said, quietly. "If he gets a stone that lets him have unlimited wealth and immortality?" He looked her in the eyes. "I can't let that happen."

"Besides," piped in Ron. "Harry has a plan for the whole thing." He handed the parchment over to her. She read the list of obstacles, her eyes growing wider and wider.

"Devil's snare? Flying keys? A logic puzzle? This isn't going to keep anyone out." She looked back at Harry. "What's going on here?"

"I have an idea." Harry said. "But I'd rather not say until we're through. It might be nothing. But it might be something."

"Then we need to know." She replied, crossing her arms.

"Maybe. But either way, the obstacles remain the same. And Quirrell is going to try this evening. So we need to go now." Harry kept his gaze even, looking at her. "I need your help, Hermione. Will you trust me?"

Harry could see the battle going on in Hermione's mind. She wanted to debate it, she wanted to know what he was worried about. But when it came down to it, this was Ron, Neville, and Harry. She trusted them. Her features softened.

"Of course, Harry." Then she got stern again. "But you'd better not get us hurt. Or worse, expelled." Neville snorted in laughter, matching the grins from Ron and Harry.

"Don't worry, Hermione." Harry said, rising. "We've got you. Besides, if we do get in trouble, you can say I tricked you into it."

"Prat." She responded, before leaving to put her bag away. Harry turned to Neville.

"You sure, mate?" He asked. Marigold and Neville were closer friends than he was with his own Neville, but he could see the lion underneath the timid scion of Longbottom. And their chat during Sirius' trial had been an enlightening one - when Neville was in his element, he was a force to be reckoned with. That his element was the nurseries and the Wizengamot just made the boy that much more interesting. He'd be a friend to keep, even without the long relationship between their families.

Neville was good people. And over the course of the year, they had finally managed to convince Neville of that.

"I'm good, Harry. I'd just be in the way after the first room." Neville pointed to the parchment. "Don't forget to get the roots. If it's like you say, burn from the wall to the center, so that it doesn't try to regrow. Then use the rope to get past."

"Can we do a sticking charm that will last that long?" asked Ron.

"Maybe." said Harry. "If not, there will be brooms."

Ron shook his head. "Hermione will hate that."

"Then toss her the rope after." replied Neville. He looked at Harry. "Someday you'll have to tell me how you found all of this out, Harry."

 _Because my brother already completed it?_ He thought. "You know Hagrid can get chatty, Nev. I just, well, maybe I encouraged him a bit."

"Uh huh. That'd do it." Neville nodded. He handed back the parchment, which Harry tucked away in his robes. "Good luck, Ron, Harry, Hermione." He nodded to the witch as she came down the stairs.

"Thanks, Nev." Harry adjusted the rope on his shoulder. "Ready?"

oOoOoOoOo

Fluffy was as scary as Spellforged had said. But the wooden flute turned out to be unnecessary, as there was already a music box playing when they entered the hallway. Opening the trap door, they saw the twisting vines of the Devil's Snare. They looked at him, and he nodded.

" _Incendio_ " they both said, as quietly as possible, and gouts of fire shot from their wands. Harry couldn't see what had happened, but he could smell it. _Ick._

When he approached the trap door, he saw a large hole in the layer of vines, just as Spellforged had described. He could also see the vines trying to regrow and close the gap, but the burned sections acted like cauterized wounds - the way was clear. Harry set the coil of rope down.

When they made it to the key room, Harry immediately saw the correct key - it had been damaged already. "He's already here." Harry said, simply, as he opened the door.

The next room proved that Spellforged had been correct. For here was no logic puzzle, no complex rune array driving a customized game board. No, here they found a simple game of Wizard's Chess. The perfect challenge for Ron Weasley.

Ron walked around the board, looking at the position, while Hermione and Harry watched patiently.

Hermione leaned over to Harry. "This isn't what you thought it would be."

He replied in kind. "How much chess do you think Hagrid plays? He's more of a cards man, I believe." _They planned a chess game, and changed it to a logic puzzle when Spellforged went to Ravenclaw._ Harry frowned. _This is a test of us. But why?_

He reached out to the link. _Spellforged, you were right, we have a chess game._

 _Oh?_ Was the reply. _Want me to help?_

 _If we get stuck, sure. But Ron Weasley is a good player, and they can't have made it this hard. He's got it, I think._ Harry watched Ron circle the board. _I'll let you know if we need you._

 _Alright. Be careful._ Harry felt Spellforged leave the link.

"I think I've got it," said Ron. "But we need to be the pieces, here and here and here." he indicated spots on the board. They took their places, looking back to Ron.

And the game began.

Toward the end, Ron realized that he'd have to sacrifice his 'piece' to win the game. Harry asked him to wait, while he relayed the board to Spellforged. Unfortunately, Spellforged couldn't see another way out, but suggested cushioning charms around Ron. When it was over, Ron was dazed but awake enough to insist that Harry and Hermione move on.

The dead troll gave Hermione a fright, but that was all it did. They moved forward.

The potions puzzle was just as Spellforged described it, and the clue was the same as well. Which meant that this bottle would take him to the mirror, and that one would bring Hermione back to Ron. He was pleased when Hermione got the correct answer.

"Are you sure, Harry?" She asked.

"Yep." he replied. "Even if Quirrell is in there, I know how to handle him. And the puzzle is no problem, either. Besides," he looked back at her. "We need to make sure Dumbledore gets down here. McGonagall didn't call him, did she?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, probably not."

Harry nodded. "Good thing I told Susan Bones, then. The meeting he was supposed to have was with her aunt - but she knew nothing about it, according to Susan. It smelled fake. So, her Aunt will get him back here double quick."

Hermione chuckled at that. Then, before he could turn, she hugged him. "Be careful, Harry." And then she was drinking her potion and rushing out the door.

oOoOoOoOo

"Ah, Mister P-p-potter." said Professor Quirrell. Harry could see the ornate mirror from Christmas, and in front of it was the turban-clad host of Lord Voldemort.

Harry ignored the prickling in his scar.

"Is Professor Quirrell still in there, somewhere?" Harry asked, without preamble. "Or did you kill him as well?"

The Professor's full attention turned to Harry, and the prickling became a low burning.

"So, boy, you're smarter than you look." The stutter was gone, as was the twitching and the slouch. "Good, I will enjoy this all the more. But first, you will come here and retrieve the stone." The man's wand was out, though not yet aimed at him.

"The mirror sees your desire, Voldemort." Quirrell's eyes grew wide, and Harry saw just a touch of fear there - perhaps the professor was still alive. "It knows what you would do with the stone. You have a key to the wrong door. The mirror will not grant you the power you seek."

"Power," Quirrell scoffed. "You know nothing of power, boy. Good, evil, these are just words. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it."

Harry looked the man in his eyes, and saw a brief tremor there. "I defeated you when I was still in nappies, Voldemort. How powerful could you be?" His answer was another stabbing pain in his scar. _Do not taunt the Dark Lord, Harry,_ he thought to himself, wincing.

"Powerful enough to kill your father, easily." Quirrell said, with a sneer. "Your mother needn't have died. But she would not get out of my way, so like all the rest of them, her life ended when she tried to deny me the smallest thing." His wand raised, aiming at Harry. "Now, if you don't want her death to have been in vain, you will retrieve the stone."

Slowly, Harry found himself walking to the mirror. There, he again saw his parents and the rest of the five. Spellforged nodded to him and said something.

"What do you see, boy?" Quirrell asked, impatiently.

 _Stall,_ Harry thought. "I see my parents, my grandparents, my whole family. An entire ancient house," he tilted his head, pretending to concentrate. "My reflection is asking me a question, but I can't read lips. I think it's a riddle."

He did not expect a flare of pain when he said that - Quirrellmort must be more impatient than he thought. "Answer him, boy. Quickly!"

 _Spellforged,_ Harry sent. _Your reflection in the mirror asked me a question. I don't think I got it exactly right, but what does this phrase mean?_ He repeated the goblin phrase.

 _Best guess?_ Despite the situation, Harry could almost hear Spellforged's chuckle. _Cut his tendons, then stab him in the throat._

 _What?!_ As Harry watched, Spellforged's reflection pulled a dagger from his belt, before handing it handle-first to his own reflection. Then his reflection winked at him, before sliding the knife into his robe.

Harry felt the weight added to his robe, and couldn't help himself. " **/Groznak/**."

"What did you say, Potter?" Quirrell shoved him out of the way, looking intently at the mirror. "Nothing happened. Nothing at all." He rounded on Harry, taking several steps toward him. "What did you do?"

"Well," Harry said, backing away slowly. "If McGonagall were here, I'd lose 5 points for swearing."

" _Let me talk to him,"_ said a hissing voice from the turban.

"No thank you," said Harry. Reaching forward, Harry caught Quirrell's wand arm with the knife. While he screamed, Harry grabbed his other arm, lifting the robes, and grasped his bare skin with both hands.

As expected, Quirrell began to burn. A black cloud poured out of the turban, screeching all the while. Harry watched the cloud, ignoring its indignant screams. When it flew at him, he dove for the floor, and it passed harmlessly over him.

The cloud flew past the flames and out the door, passing a shocked Headmaster Dumbledore.

Brushing himself off, Harry walked over to the ashen remains of the Defense Professor. There, among the burnt robes, was an ornate dagger. He lifted it, feeling its weight. It was pristine, with not a spot of blood on its length. The handle featured a spiral design in deep blues and reds - the colors of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.

Looking up at the mirror, he saw Spellforged nod to him.

"Mister Potter," Dumbledore asked as he approached. "Are you alright?"

Harry nodded, turning to the Headmaster. "I believe so, sir. But I didn't retrieve the stone."

"Yes, I wondered about that." His eyes went to the dagger. "It seems the mirror had defenses of which even I was unaware."

Harry held up the blade, allowing Dumbledore to inspect it. "I saw my family, back generations. But next to my father, I saw a goblin." Spellforged had been standing next to James, after all.

"Remarkable," said Dumbledore quietly, as he looked to the mirror. "Was it a goblin you've met before?"

"No, sir." He actually hadn't ever met Spellforged. But how many other goblins did he know? He could only name four - Director Ragnok, Steelclaw, Griphook from the cart ride, and… oh, yes that will work. "But part of me thinks his name was Foecleaver. His suit had the same crest on it that my Dad's robes did."

"I see," Dumbledore lied. He looked back at the blade, still in Harry's hands. "Well, Mister Potter, either the Mirror conjured a close duplicate of a goblin blade, which will fade in time as the conjuration ends, or it managed to give you a remarkable gift that you should treasure." He smiled, the twinkle back in his eyes. "Either way, you did very well today."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, sir." Did he want to ask about the tests, about Voldemort's interest in him? In his family? _No,_ he decided. _Enough for today._ Besides, he wanted to speak to the link before trying to get secrets out of the Headmaster.

And Hermione, Ron, and Neville would be waiting.

oOoOoOoOo

Professor Flitwick was leaning over the blade, examining it closely. "And you've never seen this type of blade before, Mister Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "Never. Meaning no offense, sir, but I've spent all of an hour at Gringott's, and never with anyone who would grant such a gift." He gestured at the dagger. "And no one makes a knife like that to sell in a shop front. That has to be a gift to somebody."

Flitwick nodded, absently, and continued to look closely at the dagger. There was a tiny engraving under the guard, tiny enough to require a magnifying glass. Once he read the goblin symbols, Flitwick sat back in his chair.

"Well, Mister Potter, you don't do things halfway, do you?" The charms master grinned. "The blade is yours. Somehow, some way, this blade was forged for you specifically." He took out a parchment and copied the three tiny symbols down. "There is an engraving here, under the guard. It's almost like a smith's mark, showing who forged a particular piece."

"But see here," Flitwick pointed to the first symbol. "Instead of identifying who made this, it identifies who it was made _for_." He tapped the parchment. "The first symbol means 'To Harry'. The second, here, translates as 'Head of his House'. And here, this third symbol, is an admonishment to 'Wield it well'."

 _So it's a duplicate of Spellforged's blade. Merlin._ The implications were stunning. Harry examined the symbols. "Is this an enchanted blade? I know some Goblin weapons have magic elements or runes."

Flitwick shook his head. "It could be enchanted, but this blade is just a normal goblin weapon." He smiled again. "A beautiful specimen, by any standard, and one that would be any ancient family's most prized possession. But not enchanted, no."

 _So not an exact duplicate, then,_ Harry mused, thinking about how Spellforged had described the enchantments on his blade. _But to even hold this in my hands, in my world. How is that possible?_

The Professor gave Harry the parchment, with his translations included, and warned him to be very careful with the dagger. After thanking him, and promising to come by sometime for tea, Harry left. He had not yet told the others about the blade, though he wanted to - but he felt the need to discuss it with the link first.

Of one thing, Seeker Harry was certain - something had changed.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Not my favorite version of this sequence, but it ended up being a** **nother instance where the characters wrote themselves. A goblin-raised wizard in the mirror will do as he does - guard the treasure. The knife is not earth-shattering, but it hints that magic might make everything more complicated going forward. Which we knew.**

 **While I am keeping pairings in mind, as we move forward, none of them will be romantic in any measurable way until much further along in the story. I'm a father of daughters, kids - so, nyet. That said, I do have a spreadsheet to keep everything straight. Some have already been telegraphed, some will be out of left field. We have a long way to go.**

 **On Lord Hillyer - Some guesses have gotten closer than others. I can state, categorically, that Joseph Hillyer is _not_ the boy-who-lived. None of him are. Nor are there Fem!Hillyers about. (Though we may meet his parents at some point.) **

**Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	18. Ragnok's Burden

Spellforged read through his notebook, as he waited for the others in his dorm to get ready for bed. He had questions. Turning to a blank page, he took his quill and wrote his list.

 _Why did Dumbledore create a gauntlet to test us?_

 _Why did Dumbledore use the real Philosopher's Stone as bait?_

 _Why did Dumbledore let VM into the school? (Did Dumbledore know it was VM?)_

He paused a moment, thinking about Seeker's trip to the mirror, and his encounter with Quirrellmort. And the dagger he had somehow received. A dagger that, from Seeker's description, could be none other than his own. Even the handle, with his father's in-joke about being in either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, was unique.

 _How did the Mirror know enough to duplicate my dagger?_

 _Did the Mirror access our link?_

Another pause, while his thoughts went to the link - and to Marigold, Seeker, and Rose. Soon they would know if they had to go back to the Dursleys, and if so, for how long. And why? _Another question for the book,_ he thought, writing it down.

The reality was that they had been taken to Surrey long before other options were closed to them. The Longbottoms were not attacked until the fifth of November. Madam Bones was never attacked, nor were the Greengrasses. And Sirius was not arrested until the third.

 _Why were we placed with the Dursleys?_

 _Why would we have to go back if alternatives exist?_

"Working late again, Harry?" Spellforged looked up to see Anthony Goldstein, one of his dorm mates, getting ready for bed.

"Just trying to sort out my thoughts." He said, closing the notebook. It was entirely in the Goblin tongue, but he took no chances. "Some facts came out after Sirius' trial, and I've been trying to get my head around them. It's no big deal."

Anthony chuckled as he closed his trunk. "If I had half the year you've had, I don't know how I would have managed to keep up with my grades." The boy sat on his bed. "Look at it this way, though - maybe next year will be calmer for you."

Now it was Spellforged's turn to chuckle. "Maybe, maybe not. My cousin is coming for his first year next year, and I have 10 galleons on him being sorted into Ravenclaw. So I'll have to keep an eye on him, plus handle my own classes."

Anthony nodded. "I didn't know there were any other Potters out there."

"Oh, there aren't. Erik is my adoptive mother's nephew. He's from Clan Sullivan, in the south of Ireland. But they live near London with my mother." He smiled. "If he has his way, he'll try to start a house football team."

Another grin from Anthony. "We have enough half-bloods and muggleborn around here, it might work. I'd play." He sat back on his bed, lifting a hand to his curtain. "Well, we will have to see what happens, then. G'night, Harry."

"Good night, Anthony." With that, the boy closed his curtains. Spellforged sat, thinking, for a moment, before pulling out his notebook once more.

 _Can Seeker's bridge building work here as well? (Erik/Footy)_

He looked up when the mirror on his nightstand vibrated. Reaching over, he closed his curtains - activating the silencing charm. **/Director/**.

Ragnok appeared in the mirror. "Hello, son. How was your day?"

Spellforged smiled at his father. "Classes went well, as usual. Everyone is preparing for exams, especially in Ravenclaw."

"I assume, from your tone, that you are already prepared, then?"

"Of course. I've even tried to help Hermione study more efficiently, though I don't think she believes me when I tell her how little time I spend in full study mode."

Ragnok chuckled. "We'll have to find a way to get you to spend time with her this summer. She sounds like a good friend."

"She is," he replied, thinking about his own Hermione, as well as the others. Hermione Granger was one of the few constants between worlds, having even befriended Rose - no mean feat, given that she was in Slytherin. _But that's what building bridges is about_ , he thought.

"I have other news, Harry." Ragnok's tone became more serious, and Spellforged sat up a little straighter. "You were correct about the break-in in July. When we looked at the magical signature involved, it was indeed Quirinus Quirrell."

"Good. I had worried he had an accomplice, but if it was actually him, then it's a good bet he was working alone." Of course, that meant there were no death eaters whose vaults they could seize, but it was what it was. "Do you plan to make that public?"

"No." his father replied. "Honestly, nothing was taken and we'd just as soon let it be. But if he does get free, we'll quietly take him into a back room." Ragnok broke out in one of his toothy grins - the unnerving kind. "And that, my son, will be the tale of him."

Spellforged nodded. No arguing with _that._ "Good."

They chatted about other matters for a few minutes longer, before Spellforged mentioned Anthony's comment about next year. "Part of me wonders, why does so much happen in my life?"

Ragnok looked thoughtful. "Perhaps because Lady Fate knows you are up to the task? You are quite capable, Harry."

"Says the Leader of the Goblin Nation in the United Kingdom." snarked Harry, earning a laugh from his father.

"Alright, I deserved that. But think of it this way - you've done so much, in just this year. Things that no one else has ever done, you did first." The pride on Ragnok's face was obvious. "Don't sell yourself short."

"I won't, father." Harry yawned. "It's getting late."

"It is. We'll talk tomorrow, yes?"

"Of course. Good night, Director."

Ragnok grinned. "Mister Spellforged." He dipped his head in a mock bow, before the mirror deactivated. Smiling, Harry laid down. He was asleep before five minutes had passed.

oOoOoOoOo

Ragnok was still smiling a few minutes later, when Grognutt knocked on his office door. "Come," he said.

Grognutt had worked for Clan Ragnok ever since the days of Ragnok's grandfather. He and Ragnok had grown up together, their families had been friendly for decades. So when the old goblin entered the office, Ragnok could already see that his old friend was troubled.

"What is wrong, my friend?" Ragnok asked.

Grognutt looked at his Director, took a deep breath, and steadied himself. "The Lady Eridani wishes to speak with you, Director."

Ragnok's face fell. Prophecies were rarely good for business, and if this one was bad enough to convince the Nation's chief seer to visit the Director? Nothing good could come of it. And the late hour, even for the goblins, meant something troubling indeed. Ragnok stood. "Best that we go see the Lady, then, Grognutt. Let us go."

oOoOoOoOo

The next morning, Foecleaver was surprised when he did not find his Director in his office, as expected. Nor had Ragnok stayed in his residence, nor was he visiting with other clan leaders or elders.

More surprising was the fear he saw in the Director's office. Whatever had happened, Ragnok was not pleased. Eventually, one young courier mentioned an early morning visit to the training pits. Foecleaver, puzzled, thanked the boy and went down to find his Director.

As the door to the training pit opened, Foecleaver saw nothing but carnage. Training dummies were strewn about the sand, in all manner of condition. One dummy remained, but even now an old goblin was charging with a deadly looking axe.

Director Ragnok, of the Clan Ragnok, swiftly dismembered the last training dummy. A quick strike took the dummy's legs, cleanly, such was the power of this axe in those hands. Ragnok rolled to his left and brought the axe up, catching the drone in the armpit - cleaving the thing's wand arm off.

The runes, detecting that the dummy had sustained non-survivable injuries, turned it off. Ragnok, in his anger, had no off switch. Taking to his feet, the axe swung again, catching the dummy underneath the chin. Had it been a human opponent, the man's face would have been removed entirely.

The dummy toppled backward, landing with a thump in the sand of the pit. Ragnok let out a growl of rage, before hacking down with the axe. He hacked into the chest of the dummy, the most durable part of the device, for the chest held the runes and power stones that made active training possible.

Ragnok cared not a bit. Again he struck, and again. Sparks of magic flew out of the dummy, as if it had circuits and batteries. Finally, with a guttural cry, Ragnok split the poor dummy in two, his axe burying itself in the sand.

The Director stood there, breathing heavily, coming back to himself. Then he let out another cry - and in that primal shout, Foecleaver heard rage and sorrow in equal measure. He watched as Ragnok collapsed to his knees.

Rising, Foecleaver approached. He kept his hands in the open, holding a bottle of water in his sword hand to show that his intentions were peaceful.

"My Lord Director," he began formally, before gesturing at the wreckage. "I believe you got'em." He offered the water bottle to his old friend, and waited.

Ragnok took a moment, before looking up. He sighed heavily, wearily, before nodding. "So it would seem, my friend." He accepted the water bottle, half draining it before taking another ragged breath.

Foecleaver, setting all decorum aside, plopped himself down in the sand, beside his Director and his friend. "What troubles you, My Lord?"

"None of that, boy, or I'll take you next!" Ragnok snarled angrily, but the humor in his eyes told Foecleaver that the move had been successful - for if he was cranky about protocol, he was _not_ angry about whatever had happened.

"As you wish." Foecleaver replied. They sat like that, letting Ragnok's body settle itself down, and letting his emotions cool off. Presently, he took another drink of water and sighed.

"It's Harry."

Foecleaver looked at Ragnok. "I trust you have not gotten my Head of House damaged?" This he said with a grin, eliciting an eye roll from Ragnok.

"Not yet, at any rate. But that might not last." Raising his hand, he summoned a small satchel from the bench against the wall. From the satchel he took two parchments.

"Lady Eridani summoned me last night. She had learned of my inquiries into the Headmaster and his interest in my son. So she looked into our archives." He handed the first parchment to Foecleaver. "And there she found a prophecy from just before his birth."

Foecleaver's eyes grew wide, then wider still as he read the parchment. It was in English.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…" Foecleaver looked up from the parchment. "This is nonsense, of course."

Ragnok nodded. "Of course it is. Neither can live while the other survives? Either you live or you do not. And what does vanquish mean? I could pick this so-called prophecy apart for hours." Then he sighed. "Except that Lady Eridani believes that Dumbledore knows of the prophecy, and believes it applies to Harry."

Foecleaver shook his head. "He was born in the sixth month, not the seventh. And his parents went into hiding, they defied no one."

"Ah, but this is the English version. And in their calendar, he was indeed born at the end of their seventh month. But in our telling, it was during the sixth month, that year." Ragnok reached into the satchel and retrieved the other parchment. "Here is our version."

Foecleaver read the prophecy out loud. Here, he could see the cadence of the Goblin tongue.

"They come, whose power will have conquered the Dark Lord, born at the dawn of the sixth month, born of people who have rejected him thrice, the Dark Lord will mark him as equal to him, but he will have a strength unknown to the Dark Lord, And while another survives, They can neither live nor die… They come, whose power will conquer the Dark Lord."

"You see the changes, I trust?" Ragnok ran a hand down the shaft of his axe, as if he were examining the craftsmanship. "It identifies the subject as one who _has_ conquered, which means Harry explicitly. When he was born, his birthday fell on the third day of our sixth month - or at the dawn of the month. His parents rejected the Dark Lord's advances three times, the last from the floor of the Wizengamot, just before they fled. He was marked by the Dark Lord. The rest speaks to the future, but look at the end."

"They come," Foecleaver read in a quiet voice. "Whose power will conquer the Dark Lord."

"Will conquer." Ragnok repeated, with a hollow tone. " _Will_ conquer." He repeated, louder. "GAAAAAAAHHHH" With a growl, he threw the axe, and Foecleaver watched as it lodged itself into the wall.

Foecleaver fought the impulse to run. Ragnok was not only infuriated, but his magic was beginning to pulse - quite a feat for a Goblin, whose magic is trained to be subtle and unseen.

"Harry has dealt with so much." Ragnok said, barely above a whisper. "He was orphaned, then abused for years, then he survived an explosion by producing a shield at three years old. Accidental magic, nothing - all magic is intent. He intended to protect himself."

"His path has been a difficult one," agreed Foecleaver.

Ragnok nodded. "And there is such power in him, the flavor of the magic in the boy… He could be the best of us, Goblin, Wizard, it doesn't matter. He is so kind, so intelligent, but brutally efficient when he has to be. If that boy went to war, Foecleaver, there would not be one unnecessary death caused by his side, do you realize that? He would exert exactly as much force as he had to, and not one whit more." Ragnok was beginning to weep, now.

"He has so much ahead of him. And then I learn this." He waves a hand at the second prophecy, the accurate one by any Goblin measure. "And I learn that he _will_ conquer the Dark Lord. Which means that he hasn't yet. Which means that he'll have to fight Voldemort once more."

"He's not dead." said Foecleaver, the implications settling into place. "Gods, he's not dead."

"No, my friend, he is not." Ragnok stood, trying to regain his composure. "But someday, my son will have to make it so."

Foecleaver stood as well. "What do we do, Director?"

Ragnok cracked his neck, then rolled his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he looked his old friend in the eyes. There was no consideration of the politics within the clans, nor of the treaties with the Ministry or the Throne. Neither of them blinked when Ragnok committed the Goblin Nation to the aid of one wizard. For with three simple words, Director Ragnok was speaking as a father, in that moment - nothing more, nothing less.

"We help him."

The pair began to walk over to the exit. As they walked, another question came to Foecleaver. "Harry will be home in six weeks. What do we tell him?"

Ragnok closed his eyes. "Lady Eridani is continuing her research. I believe she will wish to speak with him. Until we know more, I think we say nothing. For now."

"And if he learns of the prophecy before then?"

Ragnok looked at the ceiling. "I will not lie to him. But there are questions we have to ask, questions that need answers."

Foecleaver nodded at that. "Should we tell Madam Sullivan?"

Ragnok almost choked on his water. "No! Absolutely not." he shook his head at the idea. "Gods, are you insane? She would tear the bank down around our ears before we let her son go to war."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **This Ragnok piece has been knocking around my head for a while, now. Because when we strip away everything else, in his mind, his most important job is Father. So he learns of the prophecy, and has a very gaudy breakdown, as any sane parent would, I imagine. Note also that not all seers are witches - in this context, the Goblin seers sense the same vibrations in the threads of fate that Trelawney and others detect. Picture seers as if they were seismographs - the vibrations they detect are not exclusive to one or the other. You just have to know how to listen. Normally, prophecies would be filed away, unless they pertain to a goblin - as this one does.**

 **Here's the key difference between Ragnok withholding the Prophecy and Dumbledore doing the same thing. Here, Ragnok is coming to it fresh - not only does he need time to process it, but he needs more information as well - information he's searching for, through his people. Dumbledore, on the other hand, has known since Day One. If asked point blank, Dumbledore would likely dodge the question, where Ragnok would answer honestly - with an explanation as to why he didn't tell Harry immediately. Spellforged is well-trained enough to understand how big questions like this have to be handled. (Doesn't mean he'll like it, but still.)**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	19. Fit for Purpose

This time, it was Vernon Dursley who met them at the door, that Saturday afternoon.

"Mister Dursley, sir?" The man in the suit asked. Vernon looked him up and down, appraisingly.

"Yes?"

"My name is Robert Fitzpatrick, and I'm a solicitor representing the Peregrine Trust. May we come in?"

Vernon did not move. Petunia had told him about the odd men who had checked the house for 'Health and Safety' or whatever the hell they had wanted. She also said that they wouldn't be back.

Fitzpatrick's smile faded slightly. "Mister Dursley, I assure you that our visit will be worth your time, sir." He handed over a card, the same one he had given Petunia two weeks prior. "Besides, as our firm owns the property, I'm afraid I must insist."

Grumbling, Vernon stepped aside. The man in the suit entered first, followed by two other men in coveralls. One of them had a large canvas bag, almost like an old surplus army bag. He carried it with both hands, as if it were quite heavy. As Fitzpatrick sat down on the couch, the workman let the bag fall to the floor with a heavy _thump_.

Vernon took a seat in his chair, opposite the solicitor. Petunia went to prepare tea.

"Mister Dursley," Fitzpatrick began. "I can see that you are an educated man, with a good eye for business. Am I right?" As he spoke, he took the small coffee table and rotated it, so that the narrow width sat between them. He then opened his messenger bag, pulling out a folder and a small cloth sack.

Vernon nodded. "I like to think so. What is this about?"

Fitzpatrick took the cloth bag, and emptied it onto the table. Vernon saw what looked like small chess pieces, in various colors.

"We need to discuss an upgrade to your home, sir." He looked Vernon in the eyes. "Your current arrangements are unsatisfactory, as it turns out."

Vernon fought to control his temper. If this man was going to do him a favor, then he should get on with it. But for some reason, he felt an irrational urge to shout at the man. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Well, simply put, we believe that part of your home is actively damaging the health of your family. We would like to fix that today, if you'll permit us."

Petunia entered with tea, and looked at Vernon. He cracked his knuckles. "That's absurd. My son is a healthy boy, full of energy, and my wife and I have never felt better."

"Indeed." said Fitzpatrick. "And your niece?"

Petunia paled. Vernon sputtered. "You're…. You're…"

"Yes, we are." He tilted his head at Vernon's growing anger. "We also own your house, so let's all relax and talk business." That shut the Dursleys up quickly. "Good. Now, If you will give me a few minutes, I will show you what was done to you, and to young Marigold, and then I'll tell you how we're going to fix it." Ignoring Vernon, he took several white chess pieces and lined them up in a row on the table.

"This is your street, and these," he indicated the pawns, "are the houses. This one is yours, number four." He picked one up. "And here, you have three people living happily together at number four." In front of the pawn, he placed three small glass beads, each a clear blue.

"A decade ago, your niece was brought here when her parents and brother were murdered by terrorists." He added a small red bead to the three blue ones. "But the terrorists knew her name, and they had ways to find her. So, Professor Dumbledore used your sister's magic to put up what we call a ward." Fitzpatrick replaced the white pawn with a clear one. "Now, different wards can do different things. And Albus Dumbledore, gifted though he may be, is not a professional warder. So when he brought Marigold here, he did what he could - but not enough."

He took out a piece of paper. "Here, as long as Marigold lives with you for part of the year, and can call this place home the rest of the time, the wards make a shield around your house." He read the paper. "If anyone with magic comes to harm someone living here, they are stopped and cannot enter. If they try to use magic to shoot at your house, the shield stops the magic. If someone has magic and doesn't know about your house or who lives here, they cannot see the house at all. And if any magical people _do_ somehow enter your home, you, your wife, and your son, are all inclined to attack them verbally or physically, in an effort to get them the hell off your land."

Vernon and Petunia both looked at each other. Then their eyes were drawn back to the table, where Fitzpatrick was tapping the red bead on the table.

"Any magical, sir, ma'am. You see where this is going, I trust?" Their faces showed that they did not. "Well, it's fairly simple. Professor Dumbledore put magic on your house to make you hate magical people. Then he left a magical person to live with you." He looked them in the eyes. "Be honest - you really don't care about Marigold, do you?"

Another look between the Dursleys. To Vernon's surprise, Petunia spoke quietly. "I don't really mind her, honestly, as long as she keeps her freakishness away from Dudley."

Vernon wanted to protest, but his heart wasn't in it. He really just didn't care about the girl. A puzzled look crossed his face - he hated her. Didn't he?

Fitzpatrick nodded. "That's about what I expected to hear. But if she walked in the door this minute, you'd both have an intense reaction to her. She's a magical person, in your home. At the back of your mind, you will be convinced, with absolute certainty, that she doesn't belong." He looked over his glasses at them, keeping his voice even. "And you, through your actions, will convince _her_ of that as well."

He tapped the paper once more. "And note what's not on there. You are protected from magical threats, as is Marigold. But nothing here protects her from you. Or from young Dudley, or his friends." The Dursleys heard the change in his voice, they felt the temperature drop in the room. _He knew._

"So," Fitzpatrick said, taking another paper out of his bag. "We're going to fix this house, so that it's fit to live in for all four of you."

Vernon leaned forward. "I don't care what you say, I will have no more freakishness in MY house." His voice was low, but the menace was there.

Fitzpatrick matched his move, leaning forward in his own seat. "Mister Dursley, your house is owned by the Peregrine Trust. It is the Trust that requires these changes, sir."

"I won't authorize any work. And you can't force us." He held firm. They could do nothing to him in _his_ home.

"Mister Dursley, do you know who owns the Peregrine Trust?" The blank look said that he neither knew nor cared. "Ma'am?" Petunia shook her head.

Fitzpatrick grinned. "The Peregrine Trust is owned entirely by the estate of James and Lily Potter." He relished their look of utter shock, before laying down his last card. "Essentially, you are renting your niece's house."

oOoOoOoOo

To his utter surprise, the news did not send Vernon Dursley into a rage. He just sat there, looking at the table, at that clear chess piece, his jaw muscles working themselves every few moments. Petunia sat on the arm of his chair, holding onto his shoulder for dear life.

Fitzpatrick gave them all the time they needed. He had nowhere to be today, and they had had quite a shock.

Presently, Vernon's quiet voice broke the silence. "What now, then?"

Another sheet of paper came out of the bag. "Now, we talk about how to fix the problem." He waved his hand around them. "See, there are rules about using magic in non-magical homes. Basically, you can't." He shrugged. "The good news is that this home is owned by a magical person - so we can pretty much do whatever we want."

"So wait," interrupted Petunia. "If you can't use magic in a normal house, then how did they put those shield things up in the first place?"

Fitzpatrick grinned. "Well, they didn't exactly get permission. Think of it like a do-it-yourself project as opposed to hiring a proper contractor." He looked at Dursley. "Even if you hire someone, taking the lowest bid isn't always best, is it?"

Dursley shook his head, despite himself. Grunnings had problems with contractors all the time. "No, you're right about that."

"So, we suggest three jobs. First, we set up new shields for your house."

"What would they do to us?" Petunia asked.

"Not much." he read from his list. "If anyone shows up with intent to harm anyone living here - magical or otherwise - then the shields will keep them out. In the case of magical people, they will simply not be able to approach the house. For non-magical people, they will not be able to remember how to get to the house. Sometimes, they'll remember something they urgently need to do elsewhere." Off their looks, he waved his hand to indicate the room. "And it works even if they come to the house with benign intentions but become violent later."

"Say you host a poker game, Vernon. And one of your players gets mad after a loss and takes a swing at you. The shields will make him grab his keys and go home instead. He won't remember why, he won't think about it, he'll just know that he has to get home." Vernon nodded at the idea.

"Now, Vernon, Petunia, this shield also works on you. If Marigold tries to use magic to harm you or Dudley, the shield would stop her. And if you were to try to hurt her, the shield would stop you." He smiled. "Boys will be boys, of course. But if Dudley gets too rough with her, the shield will stop him too."

"Dudley is a good boy, Mister Fitzpatrick." Petunia said, coldly.

"Excellent! Then he'll never know that there were shields in place, will he?" He flipped another page. "Oh, this is a good one. Anyone who is a member of that terrorist group we mentioned, they won't be able to learn or remember Marigold's address. If they see it on a piece of paperwork, they won't be able to read it. If they hear someone mention the address, even the street name, they will ignore it. And so on. The fact that Marigold Potter lives here is behind a shield of its own."

"We're going to keep the magical person shield, but add a ward book for you. Any magical person will not be able to enter your home, except for people who live here like Marigold, or people who work for the Potter family - like myself and my associates, here. We also have to allow someone from Marigold's school, so her Head of House will be allowed to enter." Fitzpatrick took out an ornate, leather bound book. "This book will have a list of magical people who can enter your home. There's a page for permanent names, like Marigold, and one for temporary names, for when one of her school friends visits, for example."

"You expect me to do freakishness?" Vernon almost stood up, at that.

"No, not at all, Mister Dursley. All you have to do is write names in the book. We'll make it easier for you, and set it up so that Marigold can write names too - that way you don't even have to deal with it."

Vernon sat back in his chair. "And that book will, it will keep your lot out of my house?"

Fitzpatrick sighed. "Yes, Mister Dursley, yes it will."

Vernon nodded, as if it had been obvious.

"So, how much does all this cost us?" Petunia had wondered. This all sounded fantastically expensive.

Another grin from Mister Fitzpatrick. "Well, ma'am, the normal cost for wards like these would be in the range of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, and I can assure you that these are the best money can buy. But for you, we've discounted it to a five quid surcharge on your next lease payment." As he saw their looks of shock, he laughed. "This is for the safety of your family. Not to mention the health and happiness of your niece." He tilted his head toward the staircase, indicating the cupboard. "The first eleven years of Marigold Potter's life weren't exactly happy ones, as you well know. Our goal here is to make the next one better. That's worth the cost, in our estimation."

Vernon and Petunia looked at each other again, in relief at getting something like that for free, and in horror at the realization that this man _knew_ what they had done. His voice brought their attention back to him, where they saw a stern expression.

"But let me be clear, we are also adding a set of emergency wards as well. If Marigold Potter does come to harm in your care, and it does not matter how it happens, then half a dozen very angry members of my staff will be in your home within ninety seconds." He looked at them over his glasses, making eye contact with both. "Her blood sugar gets low because she doesn't eat? We know. She breaks a bone, somehow? We know. She gets a concussion? We know."

"I suspect that, when we remove the old shields, you'll have a much easier time getting along with your niece. Do not try to go back to the old ways of doing things. It won't work, and we'll know."

To his immense relief, both Dursleys nodded solemnly. Fitzpatrick had been worried that he would have to play rougher with them, for despite the state of the blood wards, he was not convinced that they had been the cause of _all_ of the hatred and abuse from the Dursleys.

That was part of why he had neglected to mention the ward that applied low-level cheering charms to the three Dursleys, when Marigold was in the room. As well as a ward that functioned to encourage benevolence and tolerance toward magical children. The design goal had been to make it so that Marigold could have a friend over if she wanted, and the friend would be made welcome.

If Marigold Potter was going to spend the summer here, then she would be properly comfortable.

"You said three projects?" Petunia asked.

"Ah, yes. Well, the first are these new shields. The second is that we're going to take the existing shields and limit them to your fence line. See, they are powered by stones at the corners of your property, so we're just going to shrink them down. That way, Dumbledore will not know that we removed them, but they won't bother your house. And even though they are basically off, they feed power to the new shields, so that those end up stronger."

"And the third?" asked Vernon.

Fitzpatrick looked at the fireplace. "You're a busy man, Mister Dursley, and we don't believe it worthwhile to make you take Marigold to and from the homes of her friends from school. So we're going to suggest upgrading your fireplace so that magical people can use it to let Marigold go to their homes and back again."

Petunia shook her head. "The thing with the green flames?"

"Yes ma'am." He saw the expression on Vernon's face, and held up a hand. "No one could come through to your home, sir, unless their name is in that book. So it's perfectly safe. And it would let Marigold visit her friends, perhaps for weeks at a time, staying out of your way." He could see the appeal that idea had for the Dursleys. "And if there is an emergency, you all could escape that way as well."

Vernon and Petunia looked at each other, as if they were having a silent argument. Without looking over, Vernon spoke. "How long to do all this work?"

"We can leave the stones here today, so that they can charge up. Then we adjust the old ones next week." He grinned and started putting away the chess pieces and glass beads. "The rest, we can do when Marigold gets back in June."

Petunia gave a small nod. Vernon sighed, then nodded himself. "Fine, do your work."

"Thank you, Mister and Mrs. Dursley." Fitzpatrick said, standing up. "We'll take care of everything."

"You'd better," Vernon grumbled, but even now Fitzpatrick could see that he just wasn't all that interested in fighting. It was as if he was trying to be disagreeable out of long habit and inertia, nothing more.

Which made sense, from a certain point of view, seeing as how Mister Christopher had disabled the aversion ward before they walked in. Otherwise, there would have been no discussion, no admonishment to treat Marigold properly. Just stunners and a quick and dirty install. The pressure was already off.

This way was better, he thought. And he was right.

oOoOoOoOo

Marigold Potter tossed her bag onto the couch in the Gryffindor common room, before taking a seat next to Hermione. Her friend looked up, and saw Marigold's unreadable expression.

"It didn't go well, did it?" she asked. Marigold shook her head.

"The Headmaster says that there are protections on the house that keep me safe. As long as I live there and stay for a few weeks every summer, I can do what I want." She looked at Hermione. "But I have to stay with those people for at least a few weeks."

"That's not too bad, though, Marigold." Hermione said. "That gives you seven weeks to visit me, or Ron, or Neville, or maybe even all of us."

"Yeah," she replied, unsure. "If they let me go."

Hermione leaned over, bringing her voice down to a conspiratorial whisper. "My parents can be very persuasive, you know." That got both girls laughing.

"Besides," Hermione continued. "I'll make sure you have my phone number, just in case. We can be there in an hour, if you need us."

"I know." She gave Hermione another hug. "Thanks."

They chatted for a while, and Marigold knew that it was Hermione trying to distract her. The fact that the girls _weren't_ discussing their upcoming exams just told Marigold how hard Hermione was working at it. It hammered home how lucky she was to have someone like that watching her back.

Eventually, Marigold excused herself to go take a nap before dinner. The dorm was empty, but she closed the curtains on her bed anyway, just in case.

 _Rose? Harry?_ She thought.

 _No joy, Mari,_ thought Seeker Potter. _The Headmaster seemed sympathetic, but then he gave me some nonsense about wards at the house._

 _Same,_ confirmed Rose. _I have an open invitation to Daphne's house, and no way to get there._

 _Neville's gran invited me over for a joint birthday party,_ said Marigold, _and probably a few week's stay, besides._

 _Ron invited me to the Burrow,_ reported Seeker. _Which will be bloody lovely after a few months locked in the spare room._

Chaser's timid voice popped up, then. _At least we'll all have each other?_ That, at least, got a few chuckles.

oOoOoOoOo

A small, brown owl delivered a letter to Marigold the next morning, at breakfast. Hermione took over bacon duty as Marigold opened the envelope.

"It's from a solicitor." she said, puzzled.

 _2 May 1992_

 _Marigold Potter  
_ _Gryffindor House  
_ _Hogwarts_

 _Heiress Potter,_

 _My name is Robert Fitzpatrick, and I am a solicitor for the Potter family. In essence, I work for you - but usually, I end up doing work for the Potter Regent. I also represent several businesses in and around London and Hogsmeade, both magical and non-magical._

 _One of those businesses is a cooperative known as the Peregrine Trust, which is how I happen to be writing today. The Trust owns various properties around the United Kingdom, usually in muggle areas. The house at 4 Privet Drive, which was built by Lily Potter as a wedding gift to her sister, is one such property. During a routine inspection of the house, we determined that the existing wards were_ _not fit for purpose_ _. I met with your relatives and discussed the matter, after which they agreed to certain upgrades to the ward structure on the property._

 _We have also connected your relative's home to the Floo network, which will allow you to travel at will to any of your friends' homes over the course of the summer. Your relatives agreed to this change as well - which I took as a positive sign._

 _Please refer to the attached summary for a list of the old and new wards. If all goes well, we fully expect the new wards to provide for your constant protection, both from magical and_ _non-magical_ _threats, inside and outside of the house. For however much of this summer holiday you spend in Surrey, know that your safety is assured by the best wards money can buy._

 _We've also set aside a modest budget for upgrades to your room, specifically. Home decorating can be a treat where magic is involved, so we leave those decisions to you. On your return from Hogwarts, we will have a crew ready to go to work._

 _At your uncle's request, I will conduct you to Surrey once the Hogwarts Express arrives. There we will finish preparations for what I hope will be a much more relaxing summer than in years past._

 _Please feel free to contact me with any questions about these upgrades, or about any other matters for which I may be of assistance._

 _I remain,_

 _/s/_

 _Robert Fitzpatrick  
_ _Farrow, Kerry, & Fitzpatrick  
_ _Solicitors and Advisors  
_ _Hogsmeade, UK_

Hermione was reading over what looked like a work order, while Marigold finished the letter. Neither girl was quite sure how to react. Marigold looked over the ward list, including the list of old wards and the summary as to why they were being removed.

"So let me get this straight," began Marigold. "Dumbledore says I need to stay because of the wards, but the wards are why my relatives hated me?"

"Where do you see that?" Hermione asked. Marigold pointed at the aversion ward.

"There. That one causes the Dursleys to get angry with magical people who make it onto the property, so that they clear off." She waved her hand. "Oh hey, I'm a magical person, and I fucking live there. So how does that work?"

"Language," said Hermione, automatically. Marigold huffed.

"Ten years of hell, Hermione, and I should be preparing for a comfortable summer because whoops! Someone broke the weird magic stones around your house." She pointed at the top of the letter. "And oh, by the way, your family owns the house. So all those years of being labeled a burden, when they're living in MY house?" Marigold shook her head, angrily folding the letter.

"I mean, if he's right and things do improve?" Hermione said, weakly.

Marigold sighed heavily. "I don't know. Maybe. I just can't even, right now." The letter went into her robes, but her interest in breakfast had waned.

Apparently, she was the early riser this morning. Before she left the great hall, she heard Seeker practicing his Goblin curses in her mind, followed shortly by Rose's annoyed grumbling.

Spellforged summarized their angry reaction the best, when the five spoke later that day. "If the house is owned by the Potter family, somehow, and they can sweep in and drop thousands of Galleons on new wards that will keep you three safe, then where in hell were they years ago?"

Not one of them could answer that question. Marigold looked forward to asking Mister Fitzpatrick to explain himself, when they meet in June.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **A dense chapter, but necessary set-up for summer. The culpability on the part of the Dursleys will continue to be an open topic, as not all of their actions over the years can be attributed to prolonged exposure to mal-adjusted, hurriedly installed, amateur blood wards. Were the wards a factor? Sure. Dursley taking a pay cut in a bad economy might be a factor as well, and admitting that wouldn't make it all OK, either. It's less about how badly we punish the wardens at Durzkaban, and more about how the situation affects our five. Spellforged's question at the end really gets to the heart of the matter, though - and some of the five might not be thrilled with the answer.**

 **Don't forget, the girls had very different experiences from Seeker. That factors as well.**

 **Thank you again for the reviews - even if I don't get a reply to you, know that it is appreciated.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	20. Anatomy of a Sorting

Rose Potter sat in the window, watching the reddening sun as it set over the Scottish hillside.

She had found this spot in early October, on a particularly lonely Saturday. While she had already humbled Draco Malfoy, she had not yet opened up to Daphne Greengrass. And despite the moment on the train when the five realized that they were speaking to one another, rather than overhearing each other's thoughts, the link was still new - she had not yet fully trusted it. Her first two months at Hogwarts had been lonely ones.

It was not until she and Daphne subdued the Dark Lord that their friendship truly began. Tracy followed shortly, then a still-tentative Hermione. Susan Bones had come later, but - to everyone's surprise - the Hufflepuff got along well with the snakes.

Taking Seeker's overtures to his Daphne as an example, Rose had even reached out to a very nervous Neville Longbottom, who had politely chatted with her for a few minutes during lunch. He had agreed that she should write to his gran, if only to build on what remained of their alliance. Another project for summer, she had replied - which led the Gryffindor to talk about his projects, and then about his greenhouses.

Perhaps she would visit, Rose had said. There were few Gryffindors who would be seen talking to a snake, any snake - disappointing, for the house of the courageous. That Neville was open to the possibility of a friend wearing green would have been astonishing, had she not heard from others about how well a confident Neville might do for himself.

For Chaser, Neville had been a lifelong friend, almost raised alongside himself and Susan Bones. She had been surprised to learn that a dizzy spell when she was eight was actually Chaser falling off a broom, after trying to catch Neville in mid-air. The boys had snuck out of Potter Manor on their shared birthday weekend for an evening flight.

Marigold, meanwhile, had basically been adopted by Madam Longbottom. Whether due to a sense of obligation to the Potters, anger at her muggle relatives, or for Neville's sake, the result was a standing invitation to Longbottom Hall for the summer. _Floo access will make that easier,_ thought Rose. _If Petunia lets us use it,_ came the bitter caveat.

As the sky grew redder still, Rose heard footsteps approaching. They sounded tentative, as if the person did not actually expect to find her. She reached down and patted her left boot, finding the small knife tucked inside. Just in case. _I wonder who it is?_

When she turned and looked at the visitor, she found Ron Weasley standing there. She knew that Seeker and Chaser were both friendly with him, as was Marigold to a lesser degree. All three said that he was a good friend, if a bit rough around the edges. For Seeker, Ron had been his first friend. Until this moment, however, Rose could not recall having ever interacted with the boy.

She nodded to him. "Mister Weasley," she said, before turning back to the window. "My apologies, but I don't want to miss this."

"Miss what?" He said, walking closer. He did not see her shoulders tense as he came closer.

"In the entire castle," she began, "This is the best spot to watch the sunset." She gestured at the window, and the sun that had now touched the tips of the trees. "If you want to see the sunrise, on the other hand, you'll want the little alcove between Ravenclaw tower and Professor Flitwick's office."

The boy shook his head. "Too early for me. No thanks." He kept watching, however, his eyes glued to the sky. "It is pretty, though."

"That it is."

As the light outside dimmed, she got a better look at Ron in his reflection on the window. He seemed anxious, as if he had something to do but didn't know how. If he was just nervous around a Slytherin, then he would not have approached the window. Rose let him squirm for a few minutes, before moving the conversation along.

"You had a question for me, I think." She offered. Then she smiled a small, half-smile as his eyes grew wide.

"I mean, I don't understand. And I feel like I need to." Ron stumbled over his words, as if he had prepared a speech and forgotten it in the moment.

Rose chuckled. "I'm not sure I can help with that. But let's begin at the beginning. What don't you understand?"

Ron took a deep breath. "Your parents were both Gryffindors, and they fought against you-know-who. And they both died fighting him. And if you take a list of your housemates, and set it next to a list of death eaters, you'll see a lot of the same names." He pointed at the Slytherin crest on her robes. "Those snakes did everything they could to kill you. So how could you join them?"

Rose thought about how to respond, but Ron wasn't done. "I mean, I know the girl-who-lived stories are rubbish, but not all of it. Not the parts where you're supposed to lead the light." _He looks really upset,_ she thought. "There are kids all over the wizarding world who think of Rose Potter and say 'That's who I want to be when I get older.' My sister is like that. She wanted to be just like you. But then you joined the snakes." He looked her in the eye. "And I have to know why. I needed to ask you."

"Why?" She said.

"Why you would turn your back on everything that your parents stood for."

Rose looked at him, blinking. Then she smiled. "Well, let's take that a bit at a time, Mister Weasley." She moved her legs from the window sill, indicating that he should sit down. He looked unsure, but took the seat anyway.

"First things first - I learned about magic a month and a day before I got on the Hogwarts Express." She ignored his face of shock. "All those stories you grew up with, that your sister grew up with? Never heard of them. Still haven't, honestly." _Though that didn't stop Astoria from teasing me about them,_ she thought.

"All I knew about James and Lily Potter, when I got sorted, was that they had gone here in the seventies, and that they were in Gryffindor. That they fought against Voldemort, that they fought for the light, that the light was even a thing - I knew none of it."

"Ron, I didn't even know what a death eater was until a prefect explained them to me - and why some of the older slytherins were giving me looks." She smiled again. "Half of them figured that I was a spy for the Headmaster, before I knocked Draco Malfoy arse over teakettle on the first night."

A look of glee spread across Ron's face. "You didn't."

Rose nodded. "He said that I didn't belong, and that the other first years wouldn't let me stay. So I put him on the ground." She chuckled. "Funny, he hasn't really bothered me since."

Ron got a serious look again. "But, Slytherins are dark." He said it with the conviction of a true believer, taught from birth.

"Some, probably." She agreed. "But it's like I said. Light, Dark, and everything in between - I knew nothing about them. The hat looked at my past, and it is not a happy past, I assure you, and said that I would find my true friends in Slytherin." She shrugged. "And I did."

"Some of the Gryffindors figure that you confunded Susan Bones to join your dark coven." He said, without thinking.

She raised an eyebrow. "Dark coven? That's a new one. We just called it our study group." She chuckled again. "Let me put it this way, how many Ravenclaws do you speak to, normally?"

Ron shook his head. "None."

Rose nodded. "Hufflepuffs?" Ron, again, shook his head. "Well, Daphne Greengrass and I became friends after Halloween, and shortly after that she introduced me to Tracy Davis. And after that, we looked around at the rest of the idiots in our house, the ones who wouldn't talk to you unless your ancestors could do magic and you wore green. And we decided that if they were going to crawl into the dungeons and tell each other how great they were, we would prove them wrong."

"So we got together with Hermione Granger. You know her, she's in Ravenclaw. And a muggleborn, I should note." Ron nodded; he knew her, and they didn't get along. "And then after Christmas, Susan came around to see what the fuss was about."

"So we have purebloods, half bloods, and muggleborn, from three out of the four houses, all working together to get better grades and keep Hermione from going insane from over-studying." She said this last with a smile. "Hardly a dark coven, Mister Weasley."

He looked thoughtful. She continued on. "And as for how it worked? Well, I'm meeting with Snape in half an hour or so, to go over my grades. I'll bet the five of us are near the top of our year."

Ron considered this, or seemed to be. He'd been told all his life that the girl-who-lived would be a lion, just like his brothers and his parents. Just like her parents.

"I still think you could have been in Gryffindor." He finally said.

"I could have been," She agreed, to his surprise. "And I'd have probably done just fine there. But would I have been friends with Daphne and Hermione? Probably not."

"You could have been friends with me." Ron said, quietly. _Aha_.

Rose stood up, at that. It was a long walk to the dungeons, after all. "Mister Weasley, I've been very careful to read every rule there is about being a student at Hogwarts. And do you know what I found?"

"What?"

"There isn't a single rule that says that a Gryffindor can't be friends with a Slytherin."

Ron stood up as well, but continued to look at her as if she was speaking in ancient Greek. "My parents always told me not to trust the snakes."

"Ah." Rose looked behind him, down the corridor. Then she turned and looked the other way. "Do you know what else I know about your parents, Mister Weasley?"

Ron looked dubious. "What?"

Leaning close, Rose whispered theatrically. "They're not here."

Ron chuckled at that. "Maybe, but they'd go spare if they knew."

"Well," she said, picking up her bag. "If you were in Slytherin or Ravenclaw, you'd probably say that I was your spy among the snakes. If you were in Hufflepuff, you'd get angry and defend your decision, because friendship."

Ron shouldered his bag, still grinning. "And if I were in Gryffindor?"

"Mom, how can we show her the way to the light if we don't talk to her first?" Rose said, in a passable Ron Weasley voice. That got her another laugh. "I really do have to go. What do you say to starting over?" She held out her hand.

Ron looked at it, then shook it. "Ron Weasley."

She smiled. "Rose Potter."

oOoOoOoOo

"Ah, Miss Potter, come in."

Rose walked into Professor Snape's office, surprised to see that it was, by all appearances, a normal-looking office. Shelves of books, a rack of rolled parchment, and so forth. The certificate that proved he had attained his Mastery was displayed prominently, the only clue to his chosen field as a Potions Master.

As she sat down across the desk from her head of house, she saw a table of the first year students - and realized that he had the rankings for their class. All of the grades, save for exams, would have been turned in by now, and this last week would focus on revising the material.

But at this point, if you were relying on the exam to get a higher placement in the class, you were probably out of luck. Not in first year, at any rate.

"Miss Potter, I've been asked to give you fifteen points for promoting inter-house cooperation, for your little study group." said Snape. He tapped the class listing. "All five members are at or near the top of your year. And the only class where one of you is not the top student is herbology, where Mister Longbottom somehow surpassed you all."

She did not see his usual sneer, nor was she hearing sarcasm. Was it possible that Professor Snape was actually…. _complimenting_ her?

"Thank you, sir. That was one of our goals, of course."

He raised an eyebrow. "What were your other goals, Miss Potter?"

She sat back in her chair, considering her response. "We, of all the houses, know how real the divide between Slytherin and the rest of the school can be. We, of all the houses, know how the rivalry between the snakes and the lions can turn into curses fired in the corridors, and cauldrons sabotaged and blown to bits." She kept her eyes on the Professor, judging his reaction. She was rewarded with a small nod.

"Well, if I were a Gryffindor, I would say that the house divide is garbage, and I'm just going to ignore it because bravery or something, and I do what I want." She shrugged. "And I'd look like an idiot."

"You will not be surprised to learn that there were many who expected you to wear red and gold." Snape said. "However obvious it is now that you belong in green."

"Just so, Professor." She agreed. "The hat had its reasons for sorting me as it did, and this year has shown that it probably knew what it was doing."

"So what reasons would a Slytherin offer for your little club?" Snape asked, curious.

Rose smiled. "It is impossible to gather a full picture of the goings-on in the school without sources of intelligence in all houses." She waved her hand at the grades. "Besides, no one runs a study session like Hermione Granger, sir."

"Yes, I can imagine so." Snape said, thoughtfully. "Do you have plans for the summer, Miss Potter?"

Rose did not consider mentioning the work being done on the Dursley's house. _Yes, actually, I'm having the wards on my relative's house, that I happen to own, redone so that the Headmaster's piss-poor hackjob of a blood ward scheme doesn't get me murdered this summer. Should be fun._

"I plan to spend quite a bit of time at Greengrass Manor, at the request of the Lady Greengrass." She said, formally. "She knew my mother, apparently, and is eager to know her daughter."

Snape nodded, though Rose noticed his expression change subtly at the mention of her mother. "Did you know her, sir? My mother, I mean?"

The mask went up, so suddenly that Rose would have never noticed had she not been watching for it. Snape's expression went immediately to something that could only be 'Carefully Neutral'.

"We attended Hogwarts together, in our youth." Snape said, quietly. "She was gifted in charms and runes, as it happens. But we grew apart, as children do from time to time." His voice hinted at there being more to the story, but his demeanor made clear that the topic was closed, for now.

"I see. Thank you, sir." She replied. They looked at each other for a moment, then Snape began shuffling papers.

"Well, Miss Potter, it seems you have had an adequate first year." He was back in Professor mode, a transition that could only be more obvious if he referred to someone as a dunderhead. "Ensure that you complete your summer assignments, or I will not be pleased."

Rising, she nodded. "Of course, Professor. Thank you, sir." She turned and left the office.

Snape watched her leave, shaking his head. He had been fully prepared to hate the girl, for he knew she would remind him daily of James Potter. And then she had been sorted into his house. Not only the daughter of a blood traitor, but the girl-who-lived herself! He had watched the common room, from a dark corner, to see how the house reacted. His godson did not disappoint, mouthing off almost immediately.

Rose Potter laid him out, almost instantly. Then helped the boy to his feet and walked away.

She didn't need to demonstrate her power, or her magic. _She already had._ If there was a perfectly Slytherin option for such a situation, she had taken it - she won that battle and the ones to follow, all with one bold move. Her housemates had been impressed, to say the least - none of them bothered her in that way again.

The study group was another bold move, for who could question the pursuit of academic excellence? Such ambition was worthy of a Slytherin.

Rose Potter continued to confound every expectation he had had - and those of the Headmaster, as well.

 _The next years would prove interesting_ , he thought.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **An interesting counterpoint to Seeker and Daphne, here. I understand, but have no interest in, a Ron Weasley who shrieks "But they're Slimy SNAAAAAAKES" whenever a character wearing green enters the room. Here, Ron had an idea of who Rose was, and that idea was shattered during the sorting. He doesn't reject her out of hand, as sometimes happens, but actively decides to seek her out and talk about it. This isn't the beginnings of Rose/Ron, thank you very much, but she knows he's a friend worth having from Seeker and Chaser and Marigold. So, like Seeker taking a chance on his Daphne (after Rose's endorsement), Rose decides to take a chance on her world's Ron.**

 **I've left Snape by the wayside this year, even with Rose. That will change as we move forward - he's her Head of House, and a far different one from McGonagall. Besides which, I enjoy a good "I can't even" moment from the Potions Master.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	21. Five Trains

Spellforged saw Hagrid give him a solemn nod as he and Hermione approached the Hogwarts Express. Spellforged, for his part, grinned at the keeper of keys and grounds, before giving him a slight bow. They shook hands, before Hagrid offered Hermione a bone crushing hug.

"Thanks again, Hagrid. I'll see you in August?"

"I'll be there, Harry. Have a good summer you two." With a small wave, Hagrid went back to directing students.

As they walked to the rear of the train, Hermione leaned over. "August?"

Spellforged had not lost his grin. "It's a long story that you'll hear all about - once we're on the train." Off her look, he chuckled. "Hagrid is helping me with a little project. Don't worry about it."

She huffed. "Every time you say not to worry about something, you know I start worrying."

He held out a hand to help her onto the steps leading onto the Express. "I know."

"Prat."

"Yes, Miss Granger."

oOoOoOoOo

Rose did not explain that the five had decided to take that same compartment on all five trains when she suggested to Daphne that they take the last compartment on the right. Would she tell Daphne about the five, someday? Maybe. But today wasn't that day.

The trip to Hogwarts that past September had been the first time that any of the five actually interacted with each other, and what a shock that had been! Rose had heard one Harry wonder about Ron, only for the other (Chaser) to respond that he was a good kid from a good family. Seeker's bewildered _How the hell do I know that?!_ had caused Chaser to respond with an annoyed _They were at your house a week ago, prat._

Then Marigold's quiet voice had come to them. _Harry? Why are you arguing with yourself?_ When a third Harry (who they later learned was Spellforged) spoke up and said _They aren't, are they?,_ Rose realized that they were real. The voices she had heard were real. And they were three boys named Harry and some other girl.

 _Who are you people?_ She had asked, cautiously.

 _Harry Potter._ Two voices, almost in unison, had replied with a nonsense name. Rose had no brother, no family (as Petunia had pointed out, repeatedly). The other girl's gasp was heard clearly. _Harry? It's me, Marigold. Marigold Potter. Your sister._

That's when a string of gibberish words came into her mind - and when she later learned what the Goblin words meant, she understood Spellforged's reaction. Then the third boy spoke again. _Well, I'm Harry as well. And suddenly a lot of things make sense._

 _We're on a train, right? Going to a Wizard school?_ Rose needed information, now. Were they on the train, somehow? She looked around at the other students milling about, finding their seats. _Meet me in the last compartment on the right._ She said, and her tone was such that no one would argue with the command.

 _Good idea,_ agreed one of the Harrys.

Rose had gone to the compartment, finding it empty. She hoisted her trunk into the rack, before sitting in the corner and watching the door. She found herself nervous - people who could talk to her in her mind could listen to her mind as well, which was off-putting. She was less bothered by the idea of other Potters being on the train, for some reason.

 _Looks like I'm the first one here._ Said a Harry.

 _Are you sure? There's no one here._ Said another. _I'm in the compartment on the right._

Rose looked out the open door, seeing the compartment across the hall. Three older girls in robes with blue trim were chatting. An older boy joined them, and their door closed. None of them gave her more than the briefest glance or politest nod.

 _I'm here as well._ Said the third Harry. _No one is here._

 _Oh no._ The other girl sounded crushed. _I thought…_

 _We're all on the same train, going to Hogwarts, sitting in the same compartment._ Rose said, almost to herself. _Five of us. There's no way…._

 _If I've learned anything over the years, it's that Magic does funny things._ Replied the third Harry. _We're all Potters, right?_ Rose, reluctantly, introduced herself - she was still a little unsure.

 _I don't know that much about wizarding magic, but I do know this,_ continued the third Harry. _All magic is family magic. And it sounds like we're all family, however that happened. We just happen to be in different universes._

They took a minute to digest that idea. It was world-changing. They had all heard voices over the years, not knowing what was happening. And now they knew - it wasn't madness, it wasn't some sort of ailment. It was _them_.

It took a revelation like that to shatter Rose's normal quiet composure. _Holy shit,_ she had said, breaking the silence. _I have a family._

oOoOoOoOo

It had taken Chaser some time to convince Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott to join him in the last compartment - but not very long, as he got along well with both girls. Usually, the Hufflepuffs congregated in the centre of the Express, sometimes commandeering an entire car or two. Ron, on the other hand, would be by later after he sat with his brothers for the first part of the trip.

When they arrived in the compartment, they found Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger chatting about summer assignments.

Neville had explained what he was working on for Herbology - and let slip that his family owned three large greenhouses at Longbottom Hall. Hermione had no great love of herbology as a subject, but found herself fascinated by the idea of working in facilities as good as those at Hogwarts. "I wish I could see them, it sounds wonderful," She had said.

Chaser and Neville shared a glance. Neville raised an eyebrow, and Chaser replied with a shrug. _Your call, man._

"You know, Hermione, Harry and I were talking about having a birthday party at my house, this year. You'd be more than welcome, if you want to come over." Neville grinned at her look of surprise.

"I don't, I mean…" She sputtered, causing Susan and Hannah to giggle.

"He's not asking you out, Miss Granger," said Hannah in a formal tone, fighting herself not to grin and break character, despite Susan's expression. "It will be fun. We're both going to be there as well. You will enjoy yourself."

"How would I get there, though? It's not like my parents could drive me." She looked at Neville. "I don't even know where you live!"

Chaser leaned forward. "Hermione, do you know how we'd get you there?" She shook her head, and he smirked. "Magic."

Hermione still looked unsure - to her, it was less about going to a magical home and more about the fact that she never got invited to _anything_ , really. But they had all spent a lot of time together over the course of the year, with Ron and others. She looked around the compartment, seeing the expectant looks. Then she looked at Neville and smiled. "Alright, I'll be there."

oOoOoOoOo

Marigold and Neville were talking quietly about the same three greenhouses when Hermione returned from the loo. She heard her friend sigh as she closed the compartment door behind her.

Neville caught it too. "Still worried?" Neville asked.

A nod. "The solicitor said that the wards had messed with the Dursley's heads, that they acted differently toward me as a result." Marigold looked at Neville. "But some of the stuff they said, some of the stuff they did… Nev, there aren't wards that make people hate like that."

Neville returned her gaze. "I mean, there probably are, actually. But the ones they had were bad enough." He found himself leaning forward. "Are you going to be safe?"

Marigold shrugged. "They said that anything they do to harm me would summon the cavalry, and a bunch of wizard police would show up and rescue me. So, maybe?" She shook her head. "But this is supposed to me my home, not just the house I live in. And my legal guardians should not have to be zapped with wards to care about me."

She shared a meaningful look with Hermione. "Besides, not all harm is physical. And there's nothing here that says they have to be _nice_ to me." Hermione's look of worry was obvious.

"Are they still connecting you to the floo network?" asked Neville.

"They're supposed to, yeah." Another shake of the head from Marigold. "But will Petunia let me go to and from whenever I like? I mean, why would she, other than to get me away from her?"

"Well," began Hermione, fishing a small parchment out of her bag. "Crawley is only an hour away. And my parents said you can come over and stay as long as you like." Taking the parchment, Marigold saw Hermione's parents names, as well as their address. There were phone numbers for their home and dental practice. "Call anytime."

Marigold looked up, nodding. Then she was across the compartment, giving Hermione a hug. "Thank you," she said quietly. Both girls ignored Neville's chuckle.

oOoOoOoOo

Spellforged and Hermione both looked up from their books when the compartment door opened. Anthony Goldstein leaned into the compartment, grinning.

"Hey Harry, hey Hermione." He said in greeting. Then he looked over at Spellforged. "Did they say yes?"

Spellforged kept his expression carefully neutral, but could not keep the smile out of his eyes. "They did." He said with a nod. "Bring your boots next year, Mister Goldstein."

"Yes!" Anthony pumped his fist in the air, before walking over to Spellforged. "You're a miracle worker, you know that?"

Spellforged made a show of huffing, indignantly, as they shook hands. "I have been called many things, Sir, but that is not usually among them." Then he laughed. "I told you he would approve it. And Hagrid found the perfect spot, between the quidditch pitch and his cabin. We might even get to use the locker rooms."

"I honestly hadn't thought of that." replied Anthony. Then he looked thoughtful. "Think we could organize teams?"

"Maybe." Spellforged replied with a shrug. "That's not why I did it, though."

"Oh, I know." another grin. "He'll love it. You know he will."

"He'd better." Spellforged said. Then the boys laughed again. Anthony said his goodbyes, and moved back up the train to his compartment.

Spellforged turned to Hermione, who clearly had so many questions she could not decide which to ask first. He let her simmer for a moment, before giving her a question of his own. "Did you ever play football, Hermione?"

"Just for a few summers, when I was younger. But…" Then she thought about how excited the half-blooded Anthony Goldstein was. Then her eyes grew wide. "Your special project?"

A nod and a grin. "In mid-August, I'm going to bring a team of craftsmen to Hogwarts to install a football pitch on the grounds. Muggle steel goals with impervious and unbreakable charms, so they don't rust, and so the nets don't fray. Same for the flags at the corners." He leaned back. "Father even found someone to charm the grass to grow white along the lines, without dying. They do the same thing on amateur Quidditch Pitches, usually."

"So the Headmaster approved a muggle football pitch," She said, dubiously. "Really?"

"Really." He smiled. "I told him that it would let one Quidditch team do conditioning while another was practicing. I mean, if Oliver Wood is going to make Gryffindor jog around the pitch, then he can do that here while our team actually practices."

"That's the only reason?"

"Well, I might also have implied that it would give the students who aren't the twenty-eight players on Quidditch teams something to do. Work off that interhouse aggression, and all that." Spellforged had been surprised at how quickly the Headmaster agreed to the idea, but knew that the lions, at least, would take advantage.

"And who did Anthony say would love it?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, that'd be my cousin Erik." Off her look, he smiled again. "You know I was fostered and later adopted by a muggleborn witch, right? After my relatives died?" She nodded. "Well, that witch has a brother whose wife contracted Dragon Pox and passed away. He moved to London to live with my mother and I, when I was around. And he brought his son Erik, who happens to be a wizard."

"And he's coming next year?"

"Yep." Spellforged's excitement at the prospect was hard to miss. "And I've got 10 galleons that say he'll be in Ravenclaw."

"No bet," Hermione said, automatically. She had never seen Spellforged lose one of his bets, though that time would probably come. Someday. "It'll be nice to have family in your house, I would think."

"It will." He gestured at the compartment. "I spent too much time on my studies this year, I think. It'll be nice to have something else to do apart from haunt the library."

Looking at the empty seats around the pair, she nodded - it was not the first time she had considered the idea. But friends had not always been her thing, over the years. She met Spellforged's eyes, and realized he had been thinking the same thing. "I'm in if you are," She said.

Spellforged grinned. "So begins Project Circle of Friends, then."

Neville, Susan, and Hannah heard their laughter from the hallway, just before they came to the last compartment on the right. Neither of the Ravenclaws could explain what exactly had been so funny.

oOoOoOoOo

Seeker was surprised at the request - their birthdays had not come up over the link. The end of July still felt like it was months away, even as they sat on the train heading back to London.

"Neville, I'd be honored to have a joint birthday party," Seeker replied to his nervous friend. "Just let me know what I need to do and I'll handle it."

Neville visibly relaxed at the positive response. "You're welcome to come over before that, if you want, I mean."

Seeker grinned. "Neville, I would love to spend as much time as I can at your house, until your Gran kicks me out."

He gave Seeker a look. "Still worried about your relatives?"

"Not really," he replied, shaking his head. "Either the upgrades work, or they don't and I take the Knight Bus to the Burrow or something. The Headmaster said I have to stay for at least a few weeks, but I'm not going to risk myself." His expression was unreadable. "Especially now that I know I don't need to, really."

Another nod from Neville. "Gran's still mad about all this, you know. Your relatives, how they treat you."

"I know, Nev." Seeker placed a hand on Neville's shoulder. "You both have been great this year, you know. I really appreciate it." The door opened, and Hermione entered the compartment. "Besides, she'd never know if you do the spell correctly." Seeker looked at her and gave a fake look of horror. "Whoops."

Neville's look of surprise was drowned out by Hermione's cry of "HARRY JAMES POTTER!", followed moments later by laughter from all three of the Gryffindors. The best pranks, as it turns out, are usually the simplest.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose, who had been leaning against the window and dozing, ignored the opening of the compartment door. That ended when she heard Daphne's tired-sounding "What do you want, Heir Malfoy?"

Her eyes snapped open, though she didn't stir otherwise. The blond boy was looking at her friends with his usual sneer of distaste. Curiously, she could not see Crabbe and Goyle, two other boys from their house who followed Malfoy around like puppies.

"Greengrass, I don't know what you and the half blood over there pulled, but my father is going to get you expelled for cheating." He pointed at her. "No one could have gotten the scores that you and your little coven got this year, and everyone knows it's because you broke the rules."

Rose quietly stood. _What an idiot._

Daphne had not moved, though she noticed Rose as she got up. "Draco, are you really that bone dead stupid?" Tracy said nothing, looking from one blonde to the other.

Draco moved to pull his wand out of his robes, but Rose caught his wrist. Malfoy had not known she was behind him.

"She asked you a question, Heir Malfoy." Rose said, quietly. Draco tugged on his arm, but she did nothing to loosen her grip. He then spun around to face her, which placed his arm across his chest - and still in her hand. She walked him back into the wall of the compartment, her other arm going across his throat.

She didn't put any pressure on him. She didn't need to.

"When my father," Draco began. Then he saw the other two witches with their wands out, aimed at him.

"Your father isn't here, Mister Malfoy." She replied, continuing to hold him in place. She looked at him and shook her head. "Draco... Merlin, look at you."

"What…" he sputtered.

"You're second in our class in Potions by a single point, beneath Daphne over there." She inclined her head at the Greengrass heiress. "You were third in Defense, top ten in most other things. You're the strongest boy magically in our year, in Slytherin." _Not that the three of us and probably Millicent weren't stronger, of course,_ Rose thought. "And you're a sure bet for seeker next year, if you don't fall off your broom and break your stupid head. And yet, here you are."

The boy grew angrier at that last. "How dare you, blood traitor," he spat the words at her. "I am the Heir to the House of Malfoy. My magic is more powerful than any three blood traitors." He sneered. He looked like he would keep going, but Rose leaned in, a dangerous look in her eyes.

"Then prove it."

That stopped him cold. "What?"

"If you're such a better wizard," She hissed at him, starting to get angry herself. "Then do better. You can be Lord Malfoy's brat all your life, hiding behind his robes and running to him every time someone says a mean thing, or you can be Draco Malfoy, of Slytherin House. There is no cunning in letting daddy do everything for you, no ambition in waiting for daddy to hand you everything." She shook her head in disgust. "I dare you to do better."

Taking a step back, she left him sputtering, leaning against the wall. He saw her hand his wand to Daphne - and realized that he had not noticed her take it.

"Everything you do reflects on our house, Malfoy." She said, mocking his sneer with one of her own. "You challenge Ron Weasley to a duel and don't show up? That's not a prank, that's a Slytherin acting the coward." She leaned against the door. "You steal whatever the hell that was from the Longbottom heir? That's not clever, that's a Slytherin lowering himself to petty theft."

"And trying to goad me into a fight, on the first day?" She grinned at him, enjoying the memory - and his look of horror. "That was quite possibly the most Gryffindor thing you could have done, right then." She tilted her head at him, as if appraising him. "You keep saying the hat got something wrong, maybe it did."

"How DARE you!" He shouted. But he stayed where he was, against the wall.

"People see Lord Malfoy," she said quietly, "And they see someone who is, at least in some circles, a respected member of society. A philanthropist, a businessman, a politician. What will they see when they look at you?" She sighed. "Do. Better."

"I don't take orders from you, Potter." He said coldly.

"No, no you don't." She glanced at Daphne, who nodded. "So I'll make you a deal. Get your act together, quit the dumbassery, quit being that one git everyone hates, and represent Slytherin House the way it's supposed to be." She eyed him, an intense gaze that made him even more uncomfortable. "Do that, pull it off, and I'll apologize for any slight, publicly in the common room."

"And if I don't?"

"Then, nothing. You'll just be that blond git who was in Rose Potter's year." She shrugged. "And that will be all there is to your story."

Malfoy shook his head, not offering a reply. He stepped forward, and she moved to the side to allow him to pass. When he got to the door, he looked at her, his expression a mask of anger and… something else. He put his hand on the door, finding it locked.

"Apologies," Rose said, before gesturing at the door. It unlocked and slid open, causing Draco's eyes to grow wide. He stared at her, and she gave him an impish grin in return. Tracy handed him his wand, and he stepped into the corridor again, watching them. He was still standing there when the door was closed once more.

" _Merlin_ ," Rose said, collapsing onto the seat, placing the wand she had held behind her back into her robes.

"You almost had me believing you, Rose." Said Daphne with a sigh. "Think it worked?"

"I don't know," said Rose. "It'll give him something to think about, certainly. And if he's worried about himself, he's not going to bother us." She looked at Daphne, meaningfully. "And he won't bother the first years, either."

"Well, Astoria will owe you one for that, I think." Tracy chuckled. "You really don't do normal, do you Rose?"

"Normal is boring, Trace." was the reply. Rose had already closed her eyes, settling back in for her nap. The train still had several hours to go before it reached King's Cross Station.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Apart from the prologue, this is the first time we've featured all five of our leads in the same chapter outside of the link. I couldn't help adding that first conversation, and contrasting it with the five as they are now, leaving for the summer. I** **t's only been one year, but so much has changed.**

 **And here, too, I've been posting this story for three months - and find myself with 55 favorites and 100+ follows. Mindblowing. And your reviews have kept me going, more than expected. So, for all who keep their eyes on this little multiverse - thank you.**

 **If you're looking for another work to tide you over, consider Saving Them All, One at a Time, by Dragon-bait-2001. They have a good core idea that fascinates me, and the story they are putting together is absolutely worth your time. (The fact that we're bouncing ideas off of each other over on the DP &SW Discord helps, as well - they're doing good work, and helping me do the same.) **

**Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	22. An Awkward Homecoming

The past two weeks had been some of the strangest of Seeker Potter's life.

Mister Fitzpatrick had been very nice to him, showing him the new wards at Privet Drive and explaining how they helped make him safer. Harry had even felt them as he stepped onto the property - a very subtle tingle on his skin.

Then he had taken Harry up to his room, which had been completely redone. The door to Dudley's second bedroom had a new handle, and above it was an old-fashioned lock. Carrying Harry's trunk, Fitzpatrick gestured to the door. "Go ahead, Harry, open it."

Harry looked at him a moment, before taking the handle. He felt a sharp pinprick on his finger, and then heard a click as the door swung open. Fitzpatrick saw him look at his finger.

"Now that door will only open for you, if you lock it." he said. "It's a simple but effective security measure."

Harry nodded. "Alright, I can live with that." Then his eyes went to the interior of the room. "Oh, oh wow."

The drab and dusty space had been transformed. The walls were a deep red, matching a large rug that took up the majority of the floor. The old desk had become a larger, proper desk with drawers and enough space for books and parchment at the same time. He now had a bookshelf and a wardrobe, along with what looked like a small cabinet built into his nightstand.

Harry was surprised to see a poster for the 1990 English National Football Team alongside a poster for the Appleby Arrows, a Quidditch Team. Now, Fitzpatrick's random sports questions in the car made more sense - they had tried to choose teams he liked. With no favorites, they picked these.

The bed was not a four-poster, but it was about as large as it could be and still fit into the room - and easily twice the size of the old bed. Fitzpatrick saw his eyes and laughed. "We tried to talk your uncle into letting us expand the room, but he put his foot down. So we did the next best thing and expanded the furniture." He walked to the window, which was now a small dormer. The window overlooking the backyard was joined by a smaller, round window at the top of the wall. To Harry's surprise, a large brass perch was already in place, along with a tray for bacon or treats.

Fitzpatrick opened the small window and tapped a stone below it. The window glowed for a moment and then returned to normal. "This is an owl window, Harry. It can stay open, and the runes will keep the weather out while letting owls and their deliveries in."

Harry nodded, taking in the room. He walked over to the bed, sitting down. Fitzpatrick pulled out the desk chair and sat as well.

The solicitor told Harry about the wards that protected him specifically, not just the ones for everyone in the house. He said that there were wards that would trigger if he was sick or injured, or if he tapped his new desk with his wand in a particular spot. Harry had frowned at that, despite the protection it offered.

"A safe house does not need a panic button, Mister Fitzpatrick." He had said.

"No, no it does not. But this house, despite its history, is the safest option for you at the moment." Fitzpatrick had sighed, then, pinching the bridge of his nose. "For good or ill, they are your official guardians."

 _Aha_ , Harry thought. "My Godfather was recently released from Azkaban, sir. I know he's still at Saint Mungo's, but once he is recovered, he would take over my guardianship, wouldn't he?"

"He could at that." Fitzpatrick looked thoughtful. "He could indeed, if the healers give him their blessing." he looked back at Harry. "That's not going to be an option this summer, I believe. But we'll work on that for you as we move forward."

Harry nodded, he had expected that. "I plan to spend some time at the Burrow this summer, and maybe at Longbottom Hall."

"As long as your relatives give their approval, and you let me know where to find you, that's fine." said Fitzpatrick. "The floo is set up to track who comes and goes, and where they come from or go to."

"So, I can come and go as I please, except that I have to live here for the summer, and the entire house is set up to protect me in case my legal guardians decide to harm me?" Harry had sighed at that point. Looking down at the cabinet in his nightstand, he got curious and opened it. It was what appeared to be a refrigerator, with cold sodas and bottles of water inside. _Handy,_ he thought.

"Unfortunately, yes, that's about it." Fitzpatrick had sighed as well. "I know it's not the best situation, but it's the best we can do within the restrictions placed on us."

Harry had been unconvinced, but polite as they chatted for a few more minutes. When Fitzpatrick left, Harry found that Petunia had cooked dinner, and had even prepared him a plate.

Vernon, Petunia, and Harry had eaten in relative silence, that night, Dudley being out at a friend's house. Harry could honestly say that it was the best meal he had ever eaten in that house, which says not much about that meal and quite a lot about the previous ones. But he was allowed to eat his fill, which surprised him. Petunia even cleared away the dishes.

Vernon sat down in the living room and turned on a football game, while Petunia quietly did dishes. Harry sat at the table, looking from one to the other, wondering exactly what had just happened.

oOoOoOoOo

Those first two weeks were a study in contrasts.

The Dursleys left him alone, for the most part. He did not press them to use the floo, or to call Hermione (though Fitzpatrick had kindly installed a second phone in his room). Nor did he spend any time with Dudley, though he noticed that his cousin was much less inclined to interact with him at all. It was less "freak" and more "kid I know from somewhere but don't want to talk to", which suited Harry just fine. Petunia would fix him a plate for dinner, which he would mostly (but not always) eat at the table.

He also noticed that she had started purchasing more breads and sandwich meats, as he would usually find himself on his own for lunch. Given their history, he had no idea how she knew what sorts of sandwiches he liked, but he was grateful for the gesture.

During the day, he would walk the neighborhood. Sometimes he would walk to the library, as he had done over the years before Hogwarts. It was nice, he thought, not having to evade Dudley or his gang.

In the evenings, he would either do homework or meditate. Every few nights, his meditation turned into an extended conference of the five, where they would compare notes on the Dursleys or talk about the fun they were having. Spellforged wanted them to meditate so that he could try to teach them some simple goblin spells, which would be difficult. It's hard enough to teach wand movements when you can see your student, but to describe hand gestures and the wandless magic used by the goblins? Spellforged was up to the challenge, but the others were dubious.

It was very slow going, and none of them made any progress. Seeker enjoyed the conferences, as he always had, even if they didn't produce much in the way of results, and Spellforged agreed to continue the lessons as long as the five were interested.

One topic that did translate to the link was the Goblin language. No one wanted to spend the summer becoming fluent, though Spellforged recommended it. An impression of Rose's eye roll at that comment somehow made it into the link, giving them all a laugh - perhaps the meditation was having an impact, after all. They did, ultimately, consent to learning a few key phrases.

Chaser innocently asked why Spellforged did not refer to the language as Gobbledegook, as most wizards did. Spellforged replied, quietly, that Chaser should refer to Chinese as "that ching chong language" and see how a Chinese person reacts. That settled that.

oOoOoOoOo

It was the first Saturday in July when Seeker found himself eating a sandwich and drinking a soda on the couch, watching a football game with Uncle Vernon.

That circumstance itself was surreal, but the fact that Vernon had invited him? Utterly bizarre.

The first half had just ended when Vernon spoke, quietly. And for Vernon, doing anything quietly had been quite a trick.

"I want to hate you, Harry." He said, and Harry grew very still. "I feel like I'm supposed to hate you, but it's like a reflex, like a habit." Vernon's eyes stayed on the television, as the talking heads showed scores and tables from around the league. "Part of me wants very much to hate you, but I can't."

"I appreciate it, sir." Harry said, not knowing how else to respond.

"I know, and that kills me." Vernon closed his eyes. "I would go to work and feel like a weight came off of my shoulders, you know? I'd put on a hard hat and walk the production floor, talking to my managers and making sure everything was moving along the line." He chuckled to himself. "I like to think people respect me as a boss, that they know that I will help them do their jobs if I can. I enjoy it, the manufacturing business, the tooling."

"And then I come home, and everything feels _wrong_ , and I just want to lash out." Vernon looked over at Harry. "And there you were. It felt like you were the problem. Like, I don't know…" He got a faraway look for a second, searching for the words. "It's like a part for the wrong machine. No matter how much you try, no matter how many times you hammer on it, that part will never ever fit." He gestured to Harry. "Except here we are, watching a game, talking. Suddenly it fits."

"Mister Fitzpatrick…" Harry began, but Vernon held up a hand.

"I know, he told us. Funny thing is, I hated Dumbledore too, for so long. Here I was, married two year with a toddler, an affordable house and a good job. Two cars, plenty of steaks in the icebox, you name it. We were comfortable. We were _normal_. And then I wake up one morning in November and find a baby on the front step." Vernon shook his head. "That old bastard, how dare he make decisions for my life?"

Harry watched Vernon's expression go from anger to pride to anger to regret, all in the span of a few seconds. He could see the argument going on in his Uncle's head. In years past, there would have been no argument - it would have stopped at the first "anger" and a fist would have been heading his way.

"And I feel myself getting so angry at it all, at all the wasted time. At all the ruined days with Dudley, you know? Half his life I've been…. Well, someone I'm not proud of." Vernon looked at Harry. "I feel like someday the anger is going to build up again and I'm going to explode. That scares the hell out of me, Harry." His voice had grown soft, almost vulnerable.

"Uncle Vernon, I mean," Harry paused, returning his uncle's look. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Harry, Mister Fitzpatrick said to have you call if you need anything. Well, I feel like I'm going to go insane if I don't do something about this. I need help, Harry."

"What?" If the conversation before this was bizarre, this was insanity.

"My house used magic to poison my mind for a decade. What Doctor will be able to fix that? What headshrinker will understand? He said your lot have their own doctors?" Harry nodded. "Good, I need to talk to one."

oOoOoOoOo

Rose was shocked, when Seeker relayed his account of Vernon's request. "He said _what?_ "

"I know," replied Seeker. "That was my reaction as well. But Fitzpatrick is sending someone to Vernon's office for a 'working lunch' that will actually be some sort of counseling. So we'll see."

"I'll believe it when I see it," said Marigold.

"How did your chat with Petunia go?" Chaser asked.

Marigold huffed. Her Petunia had talked to her after dinner, a few nights prior. She apologized for taking her issues with her sister out on her niece. Where Vernon had had his anger problems magnified, it was always Petunia that said the most hurtful things to Marigold. Her words had been cutting and brutal, and they had stayed with Marigold for years. To have the woman apologize, unprompted, was nothing short of miraculous.

She had not seemed to be confused as Vernon had been. And her apology could easily be more for getting caught at being bad guardians, as opposed to actually being bad guardians. It seemed like a good sign to Seeker, but Marigold remained unconvinced.

If Vernon reached out to her with his own cry for help, as Seeker's had, then she would contact Mister Fitzpatrick and get the ball rolling. But she would not make the first move; they had not earned that, she said.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose had kept to herself, mostly, spending more time in her now-luxurious green and silver-trimmed room. She had her own subjects to study, after all, beyond her homework and the time she was spending with the link.

She had not yet given Vernon or Petunia an opening to apologize for their conduct, and she cared not whether that apology ended up being genuine (as seeker believed) or forced (as Marigold was convinced it had been). In fact, it had been Dudley who asked her to give him another chance at being a decent cousin.

Their issues in muggle school were still too raw to her, the memories of "Rose hunting" were too fresh. He was making an effort, however, and it would cause unneeded friction in the house if she rejected him. So she said she would try, and he nodded and walked off, and that had been that.

Part of her thought the Dursleys were getting off easy for their treatment of her and her siblings over the years. Part of her very much wanted to see them stuffed into the cupboard. Apart from her stuff, there was little here that would be missed if she just burned the whole house down. _No one messes with Rose Potter, thank you very much_. But that would be a Gryffindor move, not a Slytherin one.

Idly, she wondered if Seeker and Marigold had considered that option. Both later confirmed that they had indeed, which amused her greatly.

It was Spellforged who talked her down a bit. He compared the situation with the Dursleys to the death eaters who claimed that they were under the imperius curse after the first war. It was a comparison Rose had not considered.

The difference, of course, is that here they actually were being controlled. Indirectly, and by wards aimed at their household, but controlled nonetheless. The fact that there was no obvious malice behind Dumbledore's wards doesn't change the impact they had on the family. And that impact has to be dealt with - as Seeker saw with Vernon and his regret, or Marigold with her Petunia and her guilt.

"You can tell the real imperius victims by how they react afterwards. If some mad wizard made you kill a room full of people, and you wake up covered in blood? Justify it all you want, but you're still horrified at what you did. You still feel that sorrow, that grief. And after the first war, there were suicides a plenty - people _were_ actually under the imperius, and couldn't live with what they had done."

Spellforged continued, and Rose could tell he was in lecture mode. _He'd end up a professor someday,_ she thought. "The real death eaters? The true believers? Not one word of sorrow about the vast crimes they committed in the name of the Dark Lord. Just donations to charity, or to the ministry. No reparations to victims, no aid to the orphans, nothing."

So the fact that the Dursleys were dealing with the situation somewhat poorly? "They're being genuine, it sounds like." was Spellforged's verdict.

"Fitzpatrick thinks Sirius as a guardian is possible, if he gets a clean bill of health." said Rose. "Maybe this is a short-term situation." _I hope so._

"I've spoken to my version of Mister Fitzpatrick a few times, he works closely with Foecleaver. Seems to do a good job." Spellforged mused. "If anyone can get that done, it'd be him."

 _Maybe next year I'll get out of here._ Rose hoped. _Maybe._

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **And here we meet the new Dursleys. Some quick notes on this, because I know it will not be what some readers expect. Remember, first, that these three are a lot more worried about heading back than Harry in canon; he plans to use the threat of magic to keep them at bay. And while it may seem like they are just accepting that these are their relatives now and living with it, all three are very much trying to keep their heads down and not risk causing any tension whatsoever. They were told to stay there for a few weeks, and those few weeks end shortly, so distance will make things even better between the Potters and the Dursleys.**

 **But not entirely. It's a long summer.**

 **Half of why the Dursleys get this treatment is to make the Imperius comparison, which will itself be relevant later. Hell, you have people who end up in car accidents through no fault of their own who contemplate suicide out of their guilt. To wake up at the end of the war and find out that you caused the deaths of your friends? That lone witch in the Floo office, who got imperiused and shut down the floo during attacks? Yeah, either she shrugs and says "not my fault" or she finds a way to live with it, through therapy or other means. Or she doesn't.**

 **(Not to suggest that the Dursleys were under the equivalent of the imperius. Far from it. More on that later.)**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**

 ** _A/N 2_ : Edited for clarity at the end, where Spellforged discussed Mister Fitzpatrick. Thank you to Renata MM for the quick catch.**


	23. Family Business

When Spellforged entered Diagon Alley, he was surprised at how few people there were. Even for a Wednesday afternoon in mid July, he would have expected more people. It was a warm day, however, and the school lists had not yet been published. Give it a few weeks, and the alley would be teeming with people once more.

He shouldered his bag and made his way down the street. He was in danger of being late, and so did not bother with any of the shops. There would be plenty of time for that later.

As he approached the massive stone structure that dominated the far end of the alley, Spellforged grinned. It was the same feeling he had when he saw the Sullivan home in muggle London - a feeling that he was home.

Gringott's London was as busy as it ever was, despite the lack of foot traffic in the alley that day. Spellforged paused near the doors, taking in the sights and sounds. _This never gets old,_ he thought. As his eyes wandered the bank floor, he spotted an old goblin working on a ledger at as side desk - a very familiar goblin. A broad grin crossed his features. This would be fun.

Walking near the old goblin, Spellforged raised his voice. "Who do I have to kill to get some bloody service around here?" His voice carried, and several wizards openly stared at his arrogance.

The old goblin raised an eyebrow at him, and Spellforged could see he was trying very hard to keep a straight face. To the other wizards present, though, the expression came off as an evil looking sneer.

"Speak in that tone, boy, and I will have four of our warriors summoned." He leaned forward, not even bothering to hide his own grin. "They will service you properly."

"I am the son of a noble house, **/Honored Sir/** _ **,**_ you will treat me with the respect I am due!" Spellforged was facing the old goblin now, his grin apparent. The goblin phrase had been an in-joke between them for years, but to the other wizards it sounded like an angry goblin curse.

"I'll make you humble, boy, if you keep displaying your stupidity." Now the old goblin rose, rounding the desk with menace in his tone. Harry only managed a scoff in response. The two faced each other, wizard and goblin, with the rest of the room watching to see which one would die. When the two bowed deeply to each other, a collective gasp was heard from the humans present. A few thought that the pair might even duel.

Then the goblin started laughing, followed closely by Spellforged. And then the two hugged, and the goblins watching started to chuckle. They knew Harry, whether by reputation or from training beside him for years, and all knew his propensity for pranks - a trait shared by his account manager and mentor. The wizards, meanwhile, had no idea what had just occurred.

"Foecleaver," Spellforged said, sitting down at the desk. "I trust your vaults are in need of expansion?"

"Mister Spellforged," Foecleaver returned the greeting. "As a matter of fact, they are - though your accounts may require additional room as well." Now it was Spellforged's turn to raise an eyebrow. Foecleaver chuckled, sliding the ledger over. "I was just working on your statement, as it happens. Your muggle stocks have given impressive returns, even with markets down overall."

Spellforged saw the figures and whistled. "Impressive, that's one word for it."

Foecleaver grinned. "Impressive enough that I've added some of these to my own holdings, if that tells you what I think of them." Foecleaver chuckled as Harry read the list. _Lord Hillyer picked some winners,_ he thought. The goblins had never been that skilled at playing the muggle stock markets, but some wizards had a knack for it, and the Potter Proxy was one such. He had laughed when Foecleaver matched his investments - and then again when the returns tripled what even he had expected.

The old goblin took a sheet of official Gringott's parchment from the stack, setting it next to the ledger. Then he paused, looking at the son of his friend and leader. "Have you kept up with your training, Mister Spellforged?" Harry looked at him, then nodded. Foecleaver gestured to the parchment.

Taking the official quill in his right hand, Harry placed his left on the ledger. Carefully writing three symbols at the top of the parchment, Harry softly uttered an incantation. The cover of the ledger glowed, and the quill leapt from his hand to begin writing on the parchment. As the two watched, the quill produced a summary of Harry's account balances and changes over the previous quarter. Foecleaver stifled a chuckle as the quill reached the end of the parchment, triggering the charm that added length to the document.

When the quill stopped, Foecleaver took the now completed account summary and reviewed it. "Hmmm, acceptable." He said, in what sounded to Harry to be a passable imitation of a sneering Professor Snape. "You omitted the past two weeks, though. This summary ends with June. Any reason for that?"

"None, sir." Spellforged replied. Then the grin returned. "I didn't want to cause confusion when my venerable account manager makes up my summary for this quarter, sir."

With a snort of laughter, Foecleaver rolled and sealed the summary. Then he handed it to Spellforged - why bother with an owl delivery when the boy was right in front of him? That was half of why he chose this little exercise.

"Well then, boy, this venerable account manager has work to do, and your father will be expecting you in his office." Spellforged rose, offering the old goblin a much more respectful bow than he had gotten earlier during their 'fight'. Foecleaver returned the gesture with a nod of his head.

"Of course." Spellforged stashed the document in his bag, then paused. He looked back at the Potter Account Manager, who had begun work on another parchment. Then he looked around the room once more, taking in the din of the bank floor. The tellers, usually more junior goblins, were all busy servicing clients, while several younger goblins moved between the tills and the back offices, running messages and retrieving forms or coin bags or the like.

A goblin like Foecleaver usually works from his office, deep within the bank. As a senior manager, however, he occasionally works from the floor as something of a 'manager on duty', supervising the more junior goblins. If a client asks to speak to a manager, or if there is some sort of incident, the senior manager is the one who would deal with it.

"One more question, Foecleaver." The goblin looked up at Spellforged. "When is the next time you are scheduled on the floor?"

Foecleaver raised an eyebrow at the request. "Until Thotgrim's replacement is chosen, I have been assigned every seventh day. Once the council has made its selection, it will be every eighth day."

Harry nodded. "So, next Wednesday?"

The goblin returned the nod. "Should you wish to shirk your studies and horrify another group of your fellow wand-wavers, I will be here during the daylight shift."

 _Not that kind of prank,_ thought Spellforged. "I will endeavour to make my performance memorable, sir." He bowed once more, a smirk on his face.

That earned him an eye roll from Foecleaver. "Off you go, then. Welcome home, Harry."

With a smile, Spellforged walked to the end of the room. Next to the main teller's desk was a door marked "Employees only". Harry placed his hand on the door and pulsed his magic slightly, triggering the lock and opening the door.

 _Hey, I just had an idea…_ He began to send to the link.

oOoOoOoOo

Seeker had been at Longbottom Hall for a few days, and summer would never be the same.

The Dursleys lived in a relatively small home, built after the war along with hundreds of homes just like it. There was a park nearby, and a library some blocks away. The school was in walking distance as well, which was convenient seeing as Petunia would never drive him. But the overwhelming feeling one got while walking down Privet Drive was usually something like _This is it?_

Longbottom Hall, on the other hand, was almost exactly the opposite.

The Hall had a dozen bedrooms, a spacious library, and a kitchen that almost dwarfed the dursley's entire house. There were offices for both Lord Longbottom and the Longbottom Regent, though the former remained locked due to the absence of Neville's father, Frank Longbottom, who remained at Saint Mungo's along with his wife and Neville's mother, Alice.

It was a massive home, built two centuries prior when the family could fill more of those bedrooms. Today, it was home to Neville and his grandmother, Madam Augusta Longbottom.

The detail that had struck Seeker when he first saw it, as he lay flat on his back after an unceremonious exit from the floo, was the room that gave the Hall its name. Once Neville had brushed him off and picked up his trunk, they had walked into the Hall, where Harry froze. Running almost the entire length of the house was a massive hall.

The room had the feel of a hunting lodge, with trophies mounted on the walls. Wood and stone dominated the room, including the massive wooden rafters above. There were some bookcases, and several couches and low tables scattered around the room. A long table dominated the room, fit for dinners or meetings alike - though Seeker could almost envision a horde of vikings raising mugs of ale and singing songs around it as well.

Marigold had described the place to the five, over Christmas. Her description had made clear how much she loved it here. But those words didn't really do the place justice - Seeker thought it was _brilliant_.

Despite Neville's earnest attempts at converting him to his cause, Seeker knew he would never be as adept at Herbology as his friend. So while Neville tended his plants in the three greenhouses built on the property for his use, Seeker would chat with him while handing him tools and generally staying out of his way. It was a pleasant way to spend the summer, and it helped further his education on wizarding culture.

Those lessons were reinforced under the stern tutelage of Madam Longbottom, who felt the need to compress the years of training he should have had as heir to an Ancient and Most Noble House into a scant few weeks. It was a heavy challenge, but Seeker was willing to give it a try. The coaching he had received from Rose and Chaser certainly helped, on that front.

Such was the lack in Seeker's knowledge, however, that no one realized that they had forgotten one detail.

Seeker was walking out to the greenhouses when he heard Spellforged. _Hey, I just had an idea…_

 _Sure,_ he thought. _Go ahead._ He heard the others listening as well.

 _We had talked about meeting with Foecleaver this summer, right? Well, do you think you would be able to get to Gringott's next Wednesday?_

 _Probably,_ thought Rose. _What happens Wednesday?_

Spellforged explained. _Our manager, Foecleaver, will have the duty of sitting on the main floor of the bank and keeping an eye on the tellers. It's the perfect chance to meet him in person without scheduling a meeting with him and going through official channels._

 _Alright,_ thought Marigold. _I'll bite. Why don't we want to schedule a meeting like normal people?_

 _Because,_ Spellforged replied. _For one, he's been asking for a meeting. He'll be thrilled you came by. Second, it eliminates any delay, so you'll look like you're taking this seriously. And third, honestly, I think it's going to be a fun prank. And he loves those._

 _So,_ thought Chaser. _You're using us to prank versions of your friend and teacher from other universes?_

… _..maybe?_

Seeker paused outside the greenhouse, stifling a snicker. Admittedly, it _was_ a pretty good prank.

 _So what is so important that we need to meet with him now?_ Asked Rose, bringing the discussion back on topic.

Chaser figured it out before Spellforged could explain. _The ring. Oh, wow, none of you got your rings?_

The silence over the link gave him his answer - and if it did not, then Seeker did. _What ring?_ He asked.

oOoOoOoOo

Foecleaver glanced up from his ledgers just as the red-haired witch approached. She looked vaguely familiar, but he could not place her. Setting his quill down on the desk, he waved his right hand and cast a silent spell.

While the Ministry and others might draw distinctions between wand-based magic and the wandless magic of the goblins, the reality is that magic is magic. And everyone's magic, whatever their origins, is unique. Like muggle fingerprints, a person's magic can be used to identify them, to trace their spells or their effects (as with Priori Incantatem, for example), and to connect them to other groups of magic users - like, say, a family.

To Foecleaver's shock, this witch's magic connected her to the Potter family. And there was only one witch among the living who might have that sort of connection. Foecleaver stood and walked around his desk, meeting the young witch as she came near.

"Marigold Potter, we meet at last." He bowed slightly, and smiled when she returned the gesture with a small curtsey. Then his eyes grew wide as she afforded him a traditional greeting.

 **/Greetings, Foecleaver. May your vaults overflow with gold./** She spoke the words carefully, as if they had been well-rehearsed. Her companions were also caught off guard, though the Longbottom Heir did not seem as surprised as his regent.

Foecleaver offered her another small bow. **/Greetings, Miss Potter. May your magic lay waste to your enemies./** Foecleaver's eyes moved to the Potter Heiress' two companions, and he offered them a bow as well. "Madam Longbottom, Heir Longbottom, greetings. My name is Foecleaver, and I have the honor of managing the Potter accounts." As they exchanged greetings, Foecleaver signaled for one of the runners to approach.

A young goblin walked up to the group. **/Summon Steelclaw to the floor. I must meet with the Head of House for my accounts./** The goblin nodded and ran off.

"Once my relief arrives, we should adjourn to my office, Heiress Potter. There is much for us to discuss." Marigold looked to Madam Longbottom, who nodded. She then turned back to the goblin.

"That would be fine, Foecleaver."

The old goblin smiled. "You have been well taught, Miss Potter - a trait you share with your mother, as it happens." He bowed his head slightly. "Despite the time and distance, I remain mournful of their - and your - loss." She nodded in acceptance of the sentiment, but said nothing.

Another goblin, perhaps older than Foecleaver, approached. "Heiress Potter, Madam Longbottom, Heir Longbottom, may I introduce Senior Accounts Manager Steelclaw, currently managing the accounts of House Black." A grin crossed his face. "I believe, Miss Potter, that you and Steelclaw shared some very profitable correspondence earlier this year?"

Marigold smiled at that. "We did. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Steelclaw."

"The pleasure is mine, Heiress Potter. I must say, few witches could accomplish as much as you did with one simple letter, and yet here we are. Many of my colleagues found your effort, and its result, to be most impressive." Steelclaw turned to Foecleaver, still grinning. "Go, put your House's affairs in order, old friend. I will take the duty."

"I stand relieved," Foecleaver responded, handing off his floor manager's duties. Turning to Marigold, he gestured. "Please, follow me."

Marigold stepped forward, but paused. "Should we all come?"

Foecleaver turned back to her. "If the Longbottom Regent and her house's Heir are trustworthy, then they may accompany you. I suspect, from their presence with you today, that you believe them to be so?" Marigold nodded. "Then it shall be as you say. Come."

As they walked toward the back offices, Neville saw Marigold's expression. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

She nodded, then glanced over at him. "A year ago I was an orphan wearing rags. Now I'm being led back to the office of one of the top dozen managers of Gringott's, and a close advisor to the Director himself." She shrugged. "What's there to be nervous about?"

 _How does she know all that?_ Neville wondered. Out loud, he tried to reassure her. "Take a deep breath. I did this last year, it's a simple ceremony, and then you're officially the Head of House and Heiress. Easy." He lifted his hand, and she saw a small silver ring appear. "Most of the time you don't even notice."

"I know. It just feels like a big step, you know?"

Neville nodded. "Yeah, I know. But you'll be fine. Especially if Gran has anything to say about it." They both turned when they heard the quiet chuckle from Madam Longbottom. "Well, Professor Longbottom, am I wrong?"

"No, Neville, no you are not." Madam Longbottom replied with a smile. "As long as Marigold has need of us, House Longbottom will be there."

oOoOoOoOo

Foecleaver's office was spacious, but it had a lived-in feeling to it. It was clearly a working office, rather than one set aside for meetings with important clients. The fact that Marigold Potter might qualify as an important client was something that the girl in question found hard to fathom, but here they were.

Foecleaver walked to his side of the large oaken desk, gathering files and paperwork. As the Longbottoms took their seats, Marigold walked to the side wall and examined the large Potter crest displayed there. Her eyes were drawn to the large Griffin, rampant, standing atop the crest. _No wonder we usually end up in Gryffindor_ , she thought.

The elegant scrollwork at the bottom of the crest displayed a phrase in what had to be latin, worked into the crest in precise golden letters. "Honorem Omnium, Numquam Gloria _,"_ Marigold read.

"All for Honor, Naught for Glory," said Foecleaver, his back to the room, as he searched for another folder. Finding it, he turned to Marigold. "Your grandfather said it a different way, though. He said that it meant to do the honorable thing, to see that it was done." He smiled as he took his seat. "A very Goblin way of thinking, if I may be so bold."

Marigold took her seat next to Neville. "You knew my grandparents, then?"

Foecleaver nodded. "With you here, I have the privilege of serving my fourth generation of Potters. In fact, I recall having a very similar meeting with your father not long after his eleventh birthday." Another smile, as the goblin remembered the meeting - and its aftermath. He tapped one long finger on the small, wooden box that sat on his desk. "Shall we, then?" Marigold nodded.

"Very well. Miss Potter, normally you would have been brought here after your eleventh birthday to take your place as the heiress of your house. This is done to ensure that the Head of a magical house is in fact magical. For whatever reason, that didn't happen. But if you'll think back, I imagine you had classmates addressing you as 'Heiress Potter' all year, yes?" Another nod. "They all assumed that you had gone through the ceremony. That you did not harms nothing, but it is not usually done this way."

He slid the box forward and opened it. Inside the box were two rings - a brilliant gold ring with a small red stone and what had to be a griffin worked into the metal, and a silver ring with a smaller red stone and a stylized 'P'. Even without touching the rings, she could sense the magic emanating from them.

"The gold ring is worn by the Head of the House, once they take the Lordship or Ladyship. The House of Potter can be led by either a Lord or Lady, as I believe can the House of Longbottom," Foecleaver inclined his head toward Madam Longbottom, who nodded. "Others, of course, may require a Lord, and some even require the Lord to have proven their worth in some way before they may assume their title."

"In your case, Miss Potter, you will be able to take up your Ladyship at dawn on your seventeenth birthday. Until that day, you are considered the Heiress of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, and you would wear the silver Heir's ring."

Marigold considered asking for advice from the link, or from the Longbottoms, but stopped herself. If she was to be Lady Potter someday, she would have to act the part. Madam Longbottom had already taught her how to respond; now she just had to do it.

"I would take my place as the Heiress of my House, Foecleaver." Marigold straightened herself in her seat as she spoke, as if she already took strength from the ring. Foecleaver nodded in approval, and saw Madam Longbottom do the same.

"Marigold Lillian Potter, your house calls you to take your place as its Heiress," He indicated the silver ring. "If you be the true heiress, take up your ring and speak the words of your house."

Marigold stood, for no reason other than that it felt like the proper thing to do. Reaching forward, she took the silver ring, and was surprised by the warmth she felt. She gave a look to Foecleaver, who nodded. "The ring finger of your right hand is the traditional place, Miss Potter." Marigold took a deep breath, steeling herself, before placing the ring on her finger.

The silver ring glowed for a moment, and Marigold felt its magic wrap around her own. It was almost like a blanket after a cold day, and the feeling brought with it a wave of calm. Unbidden, the words came to her, and she spoke her oath.

"I stand at the center of all things," she began, reciting the words from memory even as she learned them. "I will defend the honor of my house. I will protect the sons and daughters of my house with might and magic, sword and shield. I will lead my house with courage. I will heed those who came before me, just as I will offer my wisdom to those who come after me. So long as I stand with my house, I will never stand alone. " Marigold paused, before the final words sealed the oath. "Honorem Omnium, Numquam Gloria."

She felt the ring's warmth subside, and realized that her oath had been accepted. It was like a puzzle piece fitting into place at long last - despite her doubts, it felt _right_.

"Congratulations, Heiress Potter." Said Madam Longbottom, formally. Neville rose and gave his own congratulations, which earned him an awkward hug. Marigold, for her part, could not stop grinning. Nor could Foecleaver, who resumed his seat.

"As the Heiress, you are entitled to consult with me on the management of your family's holdings, including their investments. The proceeds of these, unfortunately, are not available to you until your majority, apart from the trust vault set up by your parents." Foecleaver tapped an old leather book, probably a ledger of some sort. "We can review those details later, of course."

Spellforged had coached her well on this point - she knew what to tell her account manager. "So long as the principal is maintained, I trust your judgment, Foecleaver." That earned her a grin and a nod from the old goblin - he was impressed with her response.

Foecleaver lifted another folder onto the desk, drawing Marigold's eye. It looked like the folder was nearly empty, with only a single sheet of parchment that she could see. "There is one last matter that requires your attention, Heiress Potter." She watched him closely, wondering what might be in that folder.

With her focus on the folder, she did not notice Foecleaver pass a short note to Madam Longbottom. Nor did she see the woman look up and grin, a twinkle in her eye.

"Heiress Potter, as you may or may not be aware, there is the matter of the ironclad, magically binding Betrothal Contract."

Foecleaver watched Marigold for her reaction. Her eyes moved slowly from the folder to him, her eyebrows furrowing and then shooting up her forehead in shock. When she spoke, he was shocked again at her skill in the Goblin language.

 **/GROZNAK!/** she shouted, startling Neville. Madam Longbottom, having been warned, could not hold her laughter in any further. This set Foecleaver off as well, with his barking laugh. Marigold glared at the old goblin, ready to lay into him, when he handed over the folder.

Inside the folder was a letter.

 _28 March 1971_

 _Senior Prank Manager Foecleaver,_

 _I apologize again for James' reaction to our little performance. Feel free to reimburse yourself for repairs to your office from the vault. I trust there was no permanent damage. I had not anticipated his reaction - when you and my father pulled the same stunt, I remember thinking that it was hilarious. Not that I expect this to become a tradition, of course, but I suspect he will have a much different perspective if and when he sees your little prank from my chair._

 _So, my old friend, when James brings his heir or heiress to you for their ring ceremony, please feel free to give my grandchild their own "betrothal contract"._

 _If James doesn't find the joke funny by that point… then at least you and I will. But I'll bet you lunch that he laughs the loudest._

 _May your gold flow,_

 _Charlus_

Marigold shook her head, chuckling now. She handed the note to Neville as she watched Foecleaver pull himself together. _My grandfather felt comfortable enough to prank a child that hadn't been born yet, and set it up two decades beforehand._ Marigold almost whistled to herself. _That's trust._

"Four generations," she muttered. "You've been with House Potter longer than any of the actual Potters have, haven't you?"

Foecleaver nodded. "I have had that honor, yes."

She looked over at Neville, who was chuckling at the letter, then at Madam Longbottom, who nodded. Again she turned back to Foecleaver, a smile on her face and a warmth in her heart.

"Tell me about them."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **The prank seems a little bit mean, the more I think about it - and particularly Seeker's reaction, which would usually be stunned resignation, if the typical Betrothal Contract fic is to be believed. The way I see it, a) It's funny, and b) at least a few of you had a bit of a heart attack when you thought that this was swerving into Contract land. Double prank! But it's very Foecleaver - had James been sitting there, consider how it would have gone. James Potter ended up as a Marauder for a reason, after all. And remember, Foecleaver had promised Charlus that he'd do exactly this; this was his way of honoring his late friend, as well as tweaking his new charge a bit.**

 **For completeness' sake, Rose's reaction involved calmly asking about the penalty for executing her betrothed. That got a bigger laugh out of Foecleaver than Marigold did, though Lord Greengrass (her escort in that world) was somewhat less enthused. Daphne, meanwhile, thought the whole thing was hilarious.**

 **A lot of this fic is about family - House Potter and its legacy, as well as the five themselves, but also found family like Foecleaver, Neville Longbottom for Marigold, Susan and Amelia Bones for Chaser, Daphne and Astoria for Rose, and others. The dance around Sirius and other possible godparents/guardians is important as well, but Marigold's question at the end is a big step toward figuring out House Potter itself, now that she is its Heiress officially. Rose and Seeker, once they relaxed, had similar questions - and Chaser's stories can only go so far.**

 **If Naruto is on your reading list, consider having a look at Dodging Councils and Stealing Kunoichi - Strike with the Pointy End, by the Twisted Mind of Ozzie. I have it on good authority that he enjoys getting reviews, and (though it's early yet) his fic is shaping up to be a good one.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	24. The Best Birthday(s)

Hermione and Neville watched as their friends flew around the quidditch pitch, tossing a practice quaffle. **Seeker** Potter had just caught a pass from Susan Bones, who had intercepted a throw from Ron Weasley. Hannah Abbott was playing keeper, if only for form's sake - Quidditch was not her game, but she loved to fly.

She looked over at her host, just in time to see Neville's eyes dart back to Longbottom Hall. The group had been walking inside to watch Seeker and Neville open their presents, when Madam Longbottom had unceremoniously kicked them all out of the house. Seeing her mood, Neville had not questioned the change in plans, but the worry on his face was obvious to Hermione.

"It's probably nothing, you know." She said. Neville looked over at her and nodded.

"Probably," he agreed. "But I learned a long time ago not to get in her way when she's angry. And it's been a while since I've seen her that angry." he frowned. "I wonder what happened."

Hermione shook her head. She didn't know either. A laugh from above drew their eyes back to the pitch, where Seeker had just intercepted another pass. Despite her total lack of interest in flying, she could tell that Harry loved it - and moments like this were the reason. With a grin, she pointed. "There is an upside, though - I mean, would Harry ever say no to more time on a broom?"

"No," Neville said with a chuckle. "No, he would not." They continued to watch for a while, enjoying their tea and the beautiful weather.

"Thanks again for inviting me, Neville. I've had a wonderful time today." Hermione fought off the impulse to list every fascinating thing she had seen during her first visit to a magical home, but only just.

Neville laughed at the conflict on his friend's face - he had seen her eyes when they caught sight of the library as they walked past. "You're always welcome here, Hermione. We're glad you came." Another shout from the pitch brought their attention once more to their quidditch-loving friends.

oOoOoOoOo

James Potter stood on the back balcony and watched as **Chaser** and his friends started another pickup game out on the Quidditch Pitch. Neville and Harry had invited old friends and new ones, and the group seemed to get along quite well.

That had been a worry of James' when he sent his only son to Hogwarts, that he might stick to the friends he had grown up with, and not been open to meeting new people. That he had made friends like Hermione showed that James' fears had been unfounded.

Now, if they could just make it through the day without another disaster, they'd be fine. With a sigh, James walked back into the house, finding Augusta Longbottom and Amelia Bones taking their tea in the parlor.

"Any luck?" He asked, taking his own seat. Amelia shook her head.

"Not a bit. Neville's presents are all there, stacked neatly as if the elves just sorted them. It's just the presents for Harry." Madam Bones shook her head. "Could your elves have sorted them somewhere else?"

James shook his head. "No, they said they made two stacks of presents when everyone arrived, and added any that came in via owl, and then left it alone."

"We were all outside, having lunch," said Augusta. "So who else was inside to take them?"

The three looked at each other, none of them having any idea who might have stolen presents from the birthday boy.

oOoOoOoOo

The summer had been a busy one for **Spellforged** , but that suited him just fine.

He had spent the first three weeks of summer with his mother and cousin, finishing up his Hogwarts homework and enjoying a long overdue break. In mid-July, however, his mother drew an assignment with an old manor house in the south of France, so Erik and his father planned to go on holiday. Spellforged, meanwhile, returned to Gringott's, where he worked on learning some of the goblin magic he would have picked up by now as Foecleaver's apprentice.

Harry did not strictly _need_ to learn all of the goblin magic suited to a student at his level, for he was an unlikely candidate for the usual duties of an apprentice - junior teller, new accounts clerk, or the like. But there was also the fact that he was a son of Clan Ragnok - and no one wearing his father's crest would let themselves be less than adept at the magic of the Nation.

So Spellforged spent his mornings training and his afternoons studying. All in all, he was having a productive summer.

Keeping busy helped him deal with the fact that Hermione had stopped responding to his letters. He did not realize how much it bothered him, until the day when he crippled a training dummy. He then compounded his mistake and walked off the sparring floor, turning his back on his combat instructor as he did so.

When the stunner was lifted, he got an well-deserved earful from the instructor.

The thing was, Spellforged couldn't figure out what he had said that might offend her so. Their letters had been perfectly normal, talking about their classmates (none of whom had written him either, come to think of it), their homework, and a trip she had taken with her parents.

The last letter she had sent agreed on a date for their school shopping - and a quick tour of the bank when she came to the alley, followed by ice cream at Fortescue's. School shopping had a different flavor when you lived on Diagon Alley for part of the summer, he had learned.

Ragnok, meanwhile, had been quite busy as well. There had been a shake-up with the clans in Scandinavia, and several of the other Directors had been called to arbitrate the dispute. The Director, a venerable old goblin named Grimblade, had died with no obvious successor, and so the sons of two powerful clans challenged each other for the post. Their honor duel had lasted longer than an hour, and ended when both warriors struck killing blows.

Spellforged had seen the problem immediately. An Honor Duel only goes until one party has wounded the other three times. Never are they fought to maim or to cripple, and certainly never to the death. Unfortunately, when the two warrior's blades clashed that last time, fatigue and an arm injury and simple bad luck converged in one moment. Both blades deflected off of each other, causing one goblin to suffer a grievous neck wound and the other to nearly have his arm severed at the shoulder.

Both wounds were fatal. The warriors died within seconds of each other.

And so Ragnok had spent the last two weeks in Gringott's Stockholm, working with two other Directors to keep the incident from sparking a civil war. Spellforged almost wished he could have gone, for watching his father at the negotiating table was a rare treat. Ragnok was just as deadly with a quill as he was with his famous axe.

He had returned to London that morning, unexpectedly - which Spellforged took as a fine birthday present, seeing as how he had received no others. Ragnok did bring a gift, however, placing it directly in Spellforged's hand - a second year spellbook entitled _Mellanliggande Stavar för den Skandinaviska Trollkarlen,_ or _Intermediate Spells for the Scandinavian Magical_. Harry found the book fascinating, and had already noticed a few spells missing from the standard Hogwarts curriculum.

Hermione would steal this from him in a heartbeat, if they were still speaking come September.

Ragnok saw his son's expression, and frowned. "Is everything well, Harry?"

Spellforged smiled, weakly. "Yes, father - I just wish I knew why Hermione has stopped writing to me. I know I didn't say anything to offend her." He shrugged. "It's a puzzle I might have to wait for the train to solve."

One of the goblin's eyebrows raised. "I could send some warriors to her home, if you wish. To make sure she is safe, of course."

That got him an eye roll from his son. "I appreciate the offer, but her parents might not take that well." Spellforged snickered. " _ **GOBLIN HORDE INVADES CRAWLEY, MUGGLE AUTHORITIES BAFFLED**_. Quite the headline, don't you think?"

"Perhaps." Ragnok grinned back, gesturing to the dining room. "We'll discuss it after your birthday dinner."

oOoOoOoOo

 **Rose** , having seen the game played before by Petunia and her friends, picked up the rules fairly rapidly. Astoria had been close behind, and the two made a good team. Daphne, on the other hand, remained baffled.

"Look, it's very simple." Said a frustrated Tracy Davis. She laid the cards out on the bed, facing her partner. "If the suit is anything but this, then this card is the strongest. But if it's this, then these two cards become the strongest ones in the hand."

"But that one has a different symbol!" Daphne objected, pointing at the Jack of Hearts.

"Yes, but it's red. So it's the number two card now, because these," Tracy held up the Jack of Diamonds, "are trump."

Daphne huffed. "And the cards don't explode if you lose?" This got chuckles from the other girls.

"No, Daphne, muggle cards don't explode when you lose." Tracy grinned. "You did say you wanted to try Euchre."

The pureblooded heiress sighed, looking defeated. "I did say that, didn't I?" This got a laugh from Rose and Astoria, which caused the Heiress Greengrass to do the most dignified thing she could and stick out her tongue. Now all four girls were laughing.

Despite the missing gifts, which had probably annoyed Selena Greengrass more than it had Rose, today had been the best birthday that Rose had ever had. And the quiet slumber party Daphne and Tracy had organized was a great way to cap it off.

A soft pop behind the girls signaled the arrival of a house elf. "Did anyone ask for Annabelle?" Daphne asked, wondering who had summoned the Greengrass elf.

"I's not being Annabelle, miss."

The girls turned to see the house elf standing at the foot of Rose's bed. He was not one of the Greengrass elves, for the Greengrasses treated their elves as family and allowed them to dress in clean, comfortable clothes. This elf, on the other hand, wore little more than a filthy pillowcase. Daphne saw faint scars on the sides of the elf's ears and arms, which - when taken with the pillowcase - pointed to an abusive master.

Rose looked into the elf's eyes as he stared at her. There was a hint of kindness in those eyes, she saw, but also determination, and no small amount of fear. She had seen that look before, to her horror, in the mirror. "Who are you?" She asked.

Shock crossed the face of the elf. "The great Rose Potter wishes to know Dobby's name? The wise and powerful witch cares about Dobby?" Shock gave way to joy, and the elf's broad grin was unnerving.

 _Play along, keep him talking._ "Yes, Dobby, I want to know who you are and what you are doing here. I know you are not one of the Greengrass elves, so can you tell me who your master is?" _Do elves get lost?_ Rose wondered.

"I's cannot be saying, Mistress Rose Potter." He seemed to fight the impulse to do something, but kept himself still. "Dobby is here to protect Rose Potter, to warn her of danger."

oOoOoOoOo

 **Marigold** stared at the little elf. "Danger?" She asked, loud enough to (hopefully) get Neville's attention. Her guest room was down the hall from his own, but the door was still open, and her voice could carry. "What danger?"

Dobby looked at her, fighting another impulse. "I's cannot say." Then the look of determination returned. "But the great Marigold Potter must not return to Hogwarts School."

"An elf can't reveal his master's secrets." Dobby and Marigold both looked at the doorway, and saw Neville leaning against the wall, watching them. Marigold saw that he had his wand out, concealed in the folds of his robe. "Right now he's probably fighting himself just to be here."

"The Longbottomses is smart, Miss Marigold." Dobby said, in a shaking voice.

"Can you at least tell me what the danger is?" Marigold asked.

Dobby shook his head. "But there's nothing at Hogwarts for Miss Marigold, she should know. Her friends don't give her gifts, her friends don't give her letters. They don't need her. She doesn't need them."

 _And there it is._ "You've been blocking my mail." It was not a question.

Dobby nodded. Then he slapped himself. The harsh noise startled Neville and Marigold both. As they watched, a stack of letters and packages appeared on the bed. _The gifts,_ Neville thought, recognizing his own small package among the others. _Gran will be relieved, if she doesn't get mad all over again_.

"You still can't go back, there is danger." Dobby repeated. "Miss Marigold is too kind to come to harm."

 _What the hell kind of negotiation is this?_ Marigold thought. "Dobby, I am sorry, but I must go back to Hogwarts. I have nowhere else to go, you see." She pointed at Neville. "But I will be surrounded by friends and allies like the future Lord Longbottom, here. I will not be alone. Whatever the danger is, we will stop it."

"Miss Marigold cannot go back if she is expelled." Dobby replied evenly. "If you's be using magic, they will take you from the school."

Neville chuckled. "Not in a magical home, they won't. There's too much magic here, the trace doesn't work."

Dobby looked at Neville, then at Marigold. "You will see, Miss. You must be safe. I must keep you safe." Then, with another soft pop, Dobby was gone.

Neville walked over, looking at the pile of letters and gifts. "Did a house elf just threaten you?"

Marigold shook her head. "Every time I think I'm getting a handle on how the wizarding world works, something insane happens and I think I'm a nutter imagining it all." She sat back down on the bed, closing her eyes. "What I want to know is whose elf that was. Surely his master is involved somehow."

 _Anyone else have a visit from an odd house elf tonight?_ She heard Seeker ask.

 _Yes,_ replied Spellforged. _Father got a quick scan of his magic while we talked. I don't know who owns him at the moment, but I can tell you that an elf matching his description is authorized to retrieve galleons from one vault._

 _Malfoy._ Chaser's voice came over the link. _Susan recognized him, said that Aunt Amelia had gotten a report from the alley about a blonde man kicking his elf._

 _Daphne confirms that,_ said Rose. _She has seen him before._

 _So there will be danger when we return to school,_ said Seeker. _And somehow Draco Malfoy will be involved._

"Marigold?" She opened her eyes to see Neville looking at her with concern. "You alright? Thought we lost you for a minute there."

She smiled, while thinking of a way to pass along this new information. Preferably, one that didn't involve _I just got a clue from the trans-dimensional link in my head._ "No, just thinking. What families do we know who have a last name starting with 'M' and might mistreat their elves?"

Neville looked confused. "M?"

She nodded. "The pillowcase, it had a faded crest. Very faded." she lied. "I could only make out the first letter."

Her host looked thoughtful. "I can only think of one family that fits."

They said it together. "Malfoy."

* * *

 ** _A/N:_ I'm trying out a format that might make keeping track of the setting a little easier. I expect some more chapters with the full company involved before we finish out Year two, and want to nip any "It's confusing lol" reviews in the bud. I like making the reader do some of the lifting, but I also want more readers. So let's see how this works.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	25. Sirius Plans

Seeker and Neville found Sirius Black sitting on the worn hospital couch in his room, boot-clad feet propped up on the small coffee table. His eyes were closed, and it looked as if he had dozed off. A several-weeks-old copy of _Seeker Weekly_ was splayed across his chest.

"I suppose we should have arrived on time." said Seeker, quietly.

"We're twenty minutes early," Neville retorted.

"You should know, Heir Longbottom," said another voice, from behind them. "That time moves at its own speed in Saint Mungo's." Turning, they saw Lord Hillyer leaning against the doorway.

Seeker greeted the Potter Proxy. "Lord Hillyer, thank you again for your help with my Godfather."

Hillyer returned the handshake, still smiling. "My family owes Lord Black a debt that can't be paid. I was happy to help. Just wish I could have done something sooner."

"He did get me a private room," said the patient, looking up from his nap. "Usually, that means I don't have crowds wandering in." Sirius tried to sound annoyed, but the grin he was sporting ruined the effect. "Hey, pup."

Seeker grinned right back. "Hey, Padfoot." He nodded at the quidditch magazine. "Keeping up on world events?"

"It beats the Prophet, and don't tell me it doesn't." Sirius stood, now, waving the group in and offering them seats around the small table. Lord Hillyer walked over, but Neville lingered by the door.

"Harry, this is going to be about your family, right?" Off Harry's nod, he continued. "Then I'll be downstairs with Gran." Harry did not need to ask Neville who was staying downstairs - he knew that the long-term care ward was there. Frank and Alice Longbottom had been residents on the ward since the days after that Halloween in 1981.

Harry offered his hand. "Thanks again for bringing me along, Nev."

Neville took the hand in a firm grasp - worlds different from the shy boy Harry had met on the train. "Anytime, Harry. Come find us when you're done." With another nod, Neville was gone. Harry walked over to the chairs, where Sirius was describing one of the trainee healers to Lord Hillyer. Harry sat back and listened, even as Sirius quickly changed the subject when his godson arrived.

The banter between the two men was light and friendly, and Harry could hear some of the history there. Hillyer was a few years older than his father, but had considered James Potter a close friend and ally. Clearly, they had gotten along well enough for Sirius to know him as well. Harry found himself curious about the debt that Hillyer had mentioned, but didn't know how to bring it up - and did not want to be the one to sour the mood.

After a while, Sirius changed the subject. "So, Harry, how has your summer gone?"

Seeker shrugged. "It's been good. Neville and Ron both let me spend a few weeks at their houses, though Mrs. Weasley made me help with chores. But it was fun - much better than a normal holiday in Surrey."

Hillyer leaned forward. "And your relatives?"

Seeker looked at Lord Hillyer curiously. "They have pretty much left me alone, which is fine by me." His expression darkened a bit. "Even if they are sticking with therapy, I don't want to give them any excuses to go back to the way things were."

Sirius muttered something and sipped his tea. "I still think the DMLE should go after them."

"And they still might," said a new voice from the doorway. Harry turned and saw Robert Fitzpatrick enter the hospital room, wearing his trademark muggle suit.

Handshakes were exchanged, and more tea fetched and served, before Fitzpatrick was seated. Sirius asked what Fitzpatrick had meant by his earlier comment, a question Harry had wanted answered as well.

"Director Bones and the DMLE are compiling evidence for a child abuse case against the Dursleys." he began. "But the case is being held indefinitely, so long as there are no further incidents and no further reports from either of the minor children in the home. All three of the Dursleys are seeing a Saint Mungo's trained and certified mind healer, and that mind healer is consulting with a squib counterpart trained in the equivalent muggle discipline." Fitzpatrick eyed Harry before continuing. "If there are no more incidents, then when you come of age the case goes away."

"And if they do do something?" Sirius asked, a thin layer of menace in his voice.

Fitzpatrick met his gaze. "In that case, aurors will show up alongside my response team, and off the Dursleys go to Azkaban." He smiled coldly. "They are essentially on probation - their last chance, so to speak. Not that they need to be told that, of course."

The discussion continued, mainly in an effort to talk Sirius out of visiting the Dursleys upon his release. Harry chuckled at his godfather's increasingly desperate attempts to justify the visit, especially when he promised to keep his assault down to minor jinxes and hexes. Eventually, Harry steered the topic back to what he really wanted to know.

"So if I'm hearing this correctly, I'm expected to stay with the Dursleys until I come of age." Without thinking, his eyes darted over to Sirius, whose expression clearly showed his dislike for the idea. "What happens if someone becomes my guardian before that?"

Hillyer laughed. "Someone like your godfather, perhaps?"

Harry grinned in turn - the man's laugh was contagious. "Maybe?"

Sirius had not laughed at the idea, or with his friend - his eyes were fixed on Harry. "Pup, I'm still getting my life back together, and the healers are still salvaging what they can. And even with the Dursleys getting themselves some help as well, you still have friends who can keep you over the holidays." He looked like he wanted to continue, but Harry's hard look stopped him.

"My Lord Black," He said, less to be formal and more to shake the man loose - he needed him listening. "I could list a few families who would happily host me over the summers, and perhaps over the yule holidays as well. But none of them are family." He held up a hand at Sirius' response, before he could speak. His eyes met those of his godfather, and he thought back to Chaser's description of his Uncle Padfoot.

He thought about learning to fly with Prongs and Padfoot at his side. He thought about snowball fights and hide-and-seek with a grim. He thought about the idea of having an adult cheering him on from the quidditch stands. He thought about his tiny hands grabbing black fur as he rode his unca pa'foo around the living room, and about the red haired woman standing in the doorway, shaking her head - unable to keep the smile off of her face. Quietly, he continued.

"Padfoot, haven't they taken enough time from us?" Harry said, looking his godfather in the eye. "I'm never going to be alone, never. And if this isn't something you're comfortable with, I won't force it on you. But I want you to be my guardian, in law and in fact." He smiled, his expression softening. "The job's yours, if you want it."

Sirius stared back at his godson. His mouth opened, as if to respond, before closing. Presently, he sighed. "You're sure about this?"

Harry nodded. "Never been more sure."

Sirius nodded back. "What if I screw it up?"

Harry snorted. "I've got ten galleons that says you won't." That got a chuckle from Lord Hillyer, which brought part of a smile back to Sirius. Harry could see when he made the decision, and fought off the urge to cheer.

"Under those terms, then, how can I refuse?" Sirius stood up. "I'll be there for you, pup." Harry stood as well, giving his godfather a bone crushing hug.

"Merlin, Harry, good thing we're in a bloody hospital!" Sirius responded, laughing.

Once they were all seated again, Harry turned to Fitzpatrick. "So, how do we do this?"

Fitzpatrick took that one. "I've been looking into the paperwork declaring the Dursleys your guardians, and preparing our own filings to assign those duties to Lord Black. For the magical side of the issue, we should have no problem - the Ministry will bend over backwards to accommodate you, Sirius, even if it goes against Dumbledore's original grant of custody."

Hillyer leaned forward. "And the muggle world?"

Fitzpatrick patted his briefcase. "Here it's even simpler. Once Sirius has the guardianship through the Ministry, we can get the Dursleys to sign over their rights. And then you're set."

Harry nodded. Something Fitzpatrick had said brought up another question - one that the five had yet to answer. "Mister Fitzpatrick, if you don't mind, sir… why now?"

The solicitor looked over to his young client. "Why now, what?"

"I mean, I was with the Dursleys for ten years, before I learned anything about the magical world, or even about my past. Until then, I thought my parents had been drunks who died in a car accident." He looked up at Fitzpatrick. "Did no one know what had happened to me?"

Sirius kept himself quiet, but clearly wanted to apologize again, even though those 10 years were not his fault, as the court had proven. Harry's eyes were on Fitzpatrick, however, which meant that he noticed the quick glance between the solicitor and the Potter Proxy.

"The short answer is that no, none of us knew that you were being raised in that house, by those people. The wards placed around the property by Headmaster Dumbledore were such that anyone seeking to learn whether you lived there would fail to do so." Fitzpatrick looked pained. "We did search, of course. And to learn now that you were living in one of your own properties is… well, not a little bit troubling."

"Charlus worried about this sort of thing, you know." Hillyer mused. "He wondered if the Death Eaters might start hiding heirs to extort votes in the Wizengamot." He shook his head. "That's part of why I was named as Proxy - kidnapping you would do nothing, because you can't remove me for years, yet. And when Dumbledore swore before the 'gamot that you were safe?" He sighed. "We kept listening for anything that might lead us to you, of course, but could do little."

Harry sighed as well. "I know that things will get better for me, especially now, but part of me will always wish that someone had rescued me sooner." For as strongly as Seeker felt about that, he knew Rose and Marigold had had worse times in Durzkaban, and would have grabbed any chance at escape with both hands. "But, as you say, we have to keep moving forward."

"Good lad," replied Fitzpatrick. The topic moved to some issue before the Wizengamot, and Hillyer and Fitzpatrick quickly lost Harry's attention. He looked over at Sirius, who made a sleepy face again, forcing Harry to stifle his laughter. Then Sirius nodded to the bag Harry had brought with him, grinning when Harry revealed that day's issue of _Seeker Weekly._

oOoOoOoOo

The five had a bit of a breakthrough that night, during their conference. Spellforged had managed to talk them into trying one of the simplest Goblin spells he could think of - and Marigold had managed to cast it correctly.

"What do you see?" asked Spellforged, excitedly. Marigold's enthusiasm came through the link, and not just in her voice - it was another sign that the link was beginning to strengthen. Spellforged wondered if they would be able to send memories, or maybe just sounds and images, before long.

Marigold tried to describe what she saw. "It's like there is a mist over my eyes. But I can see my wand, sitting across the bed, and it's glowing green. The door is glowing blue. I can see parts of my desk glowing a light orange." She almost gasped. "Hedwig's window is bright orange! What was that spell?"

Spellforged chuckled. "That, Marigold, was a very simple form of Mage Sight. As we are learning it, this spell lets a goblin detect whether the customer in front of them is wearing glamours or polyjuice or the like, or whether there are active compulsion spells working on them."

"Can it tell which spells are in use?" asked Rose.

"Not really, that gets into more advanced spells for detecting specific things. But if you practice enough, you'll be able to tell a confundus from a compulsion, for example. Take the orange Marigold saw, there is a different orange for the runes in the desk and the runes for Hedwig's window. Over time, you can learn to distinguish things like that."

They heard a gasp from Chaser now, followed by his description of his room. There were many more items he could see, each with their own color, and added to the deep purple of the House Elves at Potter Manor.

"Guess we should get to practicing, eh Rose?" snarked Seeker. Spellforged chuckled when he sensed a huff from the Slytherin.

Once all four of them had gotten the hang of the spell, they took a break and discussed other matters. Seeker, Rose, and Marigold had all had similar meetings with Hillyer, Fitzpatrick, and Sirius. Each Sirius had tried to beg off of taking up guardianship, and each had been convinced by their godchild that this is what they wanted.

"That sounds like Sirius," said Chaser. "He's not jumping in with both feet, but acting his age - a very good sign." Chaser, more than any of the others, had been worried about the long-term effects of Azkaban on his uncle. All five were relieved when he came through the experience mostly intact.

Hillyer and Fitzpatrick both acquitted themselves well, it seemed, and neither did anything to cause concern among the five. Marigold still wanted a better answer than a shrug and a "We tried," but it would do, for now. Hillyer's earlier comment about the regency, that it was held by some sort of council, was never far from their minds when the proxy came up. That he believed they would become a member of this 'council' just added to the list of questions.

A minor could not sit on a magical council, certainly not one holding regency of a major house. But why would their house need a regent's council when they came of age and took the gold ring? Surely they would not take membership on a council that, by the very act of their coming of age, would have no further purpose?

Spellforged had that question written in his little book, underlined twice. Who sat on the council, when (and where!) they met, all were questions that needed answers.

oOoOoOoOo

Spellforged chuckled to himself when he saw his godfather, feet propped up on the coffee table, quidditch magazine splayed across his chest, eyes closed and mouth open. Such was the exciting life of a rehab patient at Saint Mungo's, he supposed. The sight was so much like what the others had described from the day prior as to boggle his mind - the man was nothing if not a creature of habit.

"I heard that," said Sirius, without looking up.

"I thought you might," replied Spellforged. That got Sirius to open his eyes, and brought a grin to the marauder's face.

"Harry! Come in, come in." Sirius stood up, walking toward the door. The man reached out a hand, which Spellforged took in a firm grip before pulling Sirius into a hug. They chatted for a few moments about the healers, the boredom, and Sirius' chances of breaking out.

"I'm betting it'll be after I go back to Hogwarts, Padfoot," said Spellforged. "That's part of why I wanted to stop by today and see you."

"I know, pup. And thank you." Sirius replied, a cloud crossing his features. "If things had gone differently, I'd be taking you to get your supplies instead of making you wander the alley on your own."

Spellforged chuckled at that. "It's definitely an odd time, growing up on the alley part of the year. But do you really think my father would let me go anywhere without two sets of Goblin eyes on me at all times?" He grinned. "I had one trainer who would have his students follow me while glamoured as witches and wizards. He'd pay me a galleon for each one I spotted."

Sirius had to smile at the prank. "Not what James and Lily imagined for your childhood, that's for sure."

"No, I think not." Spellforged leaned forward, sensing what was troubling Sirius. The same problem had troubled his three counterparts, and Seeker, Rose, and Marigold had each reassured him in their own way.

"Sirius, listen to me." Sirius looked up and their eyes met. "Padfoot, I've gotten lucky, in that magic gave me two parents who loved me, a foster mother who brought me into her home and loved me as her own, and a father who took centuries of tradition and precedent and turned them on their heads, all for the love of a child." He smiled, trying his best to sound as reassuring as possible. "And now, magic brings me a Dogfather, someone who can bridge that gap between the family of my birth and the one I've been fortunate enough to find."

"But you don't need old Padfoot, Harry." Sirius responded, sadly. "You've got Anna and Ragnok and the entire Goblin Bloody Nation behind you." He shook his head. "What am I compared to all that?"

Spellforged placed a hand on his godfather's. "You're my sworn godfather. No one can take that away, no one can change that. Especially not you, Sirius Black." He leaned back in his seat, watching Sirius carefully. "Face it, you're stuck with me. James Potter made sure of it. Are you honestly going to tell me that James and Lily didn't know what they were doing when they chose you?"

Sirius laughed. "When you put it like that…"

"Good, it's settled then." Spellforged reached into his bag, pulling out the latest copy of _Seeker Weekly_ (a gesture he would not have thought of, but that he quickly copied from Seeker after hearing his Sirius' reaction). Here, too, Sirius laughed with joy at the fresh reading material.

"Ah ah ah," said Spellforged, waving the magazine at his Godfather. "James and Lily stories first, Lord Black."

Sirius grinned, leaning back on the couch. "Harry, let me tell you about the Marauders…"

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **85 Favorites, 152 Follows, and 93 Reviews. As I've said before, the response to this story amazes me. Thank you all.**

 **I expect to manage three new chapters over the next three weeks, but I have work travel that may interfere, so the schedule will remain "Updates whenever they get posted" for the next month or so.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	26. The Mask of the Heiress

At the back of her mind, Rose Potter really hated crowds.

Diagon Alley in early August? Crowds for days, everywhere. For the few hundred students it held at any one time, Hogwarts drew a remarkable amount of business to the small shopping district. For many, the traditional pre-Hogwarts shopping trip was a family outing, a rite of passage, and an adventure all rolled into one afternoon.

Rose thought about Spellforged, growing up at Gringott's, and wondered if this had ever become routine for him. _Never_ , came the reply from Spellforged, over the link. _Though Hermione is sitting here eating ice cream and slowly becoming overwhelmed. It's kind of funny, actually._

Rose looked down at her own ice cream, and smiled. She sometimes felt like the odd one out among the five, but then she had a moment like this, shared across universes with her goblin brother. It proved to her just how similar they all were, in all the ways that mattered.

There was a line of people waiting to get into Flourish and Blott's, the largest bookstore in Diagon Alley. At the head of the line, a group of red-haired children had just entered the shop. _The Weasleys, probably_ , Rose thought. She knew that Seeker and Chaser had both gone shopping with the Weasley family, and that Seeker had spent several weeks staying at the Burrow, their family home.

Trailing at the back of the group, Rose saw a young redheaded girl following closely behind her brothers. Ron Weasley had mentioned a younger sister, so this must be her. Rose found herself wondering what Ron had said about their chat at the end of the previous year. He had been polite on the train home, which she had interpreted as a good beginning. How did his parents react, she wondered. How did his sister?

For years, young witches had looked up to the girl-who-lived, not realizing that the girl-who-lived had been more worried about scavenging food and avoiding her relatives. There had been storybooks about her, for Merlin's sake! And now, she learned that at least one of those young witches hated that she had been sorted into Slytherin. How many others did the same? When the new first years entered the great hall, how many would look her way and cringe in fear?

Rose found the whole nonsense exhausting.

Daphne's parents had known about the likely crowds in the Alley today, and suggested that they go shopping tomorrow instead (as Marigold and Neville were doing). That was a non-started for Astoria, however, and good luck to whoever gets between Astoria Greengrass and her wand. A delay, under those circumstances, would not have been tolerated. Predictably, Rose and Daphne's amusement at the discussion saw Astoria threatening to hex them, "just as soon as I get a wand!" The girls were struggling for breath after that one.

Lady Greengrass had stood firm, however - none of her daughters would receive their wand without first getting their proper school robes. So Astoria and her mother had gone to Madame Malkin's to get what the girl hoped would be the quickest fitting ever. Rose and Daphne, having already gathered most of their supplies (and a first year potions kit for Astoria), had taken a break at Fortescue's for some ice cream and people watching.

Rose saw Hermione standing with her parents, and waved. The ravenclaw waved back, then pointed her out to her parents, which got her two more waves that she promptly returned. The Grangers seemed to be standing in line for something at the bookstore. "What's going on at Flourish and Blotts?" asked Rose. Daphne shook her head - she didn't know either. They all still needed their books, so a trip to the _very_ busy store would be necessary before long.

Not everyone was waiting in line, she saw, watching as several shoppers made their way in through a different entrance. Her eye was drawn to the blonde-haired boy in front of the entrance, along with the taller man and his matching blonde hair. Daphne saw them as well, muttering "Draco" under her breath. Rose watched as her housemate handed his purchases over to a blonde woman in dark robes. _Lord and Lady Malfoy, I presume_ , thought Rose. Then Draco and his father walked into the bookshop.

"Does Draco have a younger sibling we don't know?" asked Daphne.

"No, I don't think so." replied Rose. "Why?"

Daphne stood up. "He just handed a bag of books from Flourish and Blotts over to Lady Malfoy. And then went back into Flourish and Blotts."

Rose stood as well. "And the Weasleys just went in the other way." She shook her head. "Come on."

The slytherins made their way across the alley, wading through the crowd. As they approached the bookshop, they saw posters for a book signing by "Gilderoy Lockhart, O.M. 3rd Class, Bestselling Author of _Magical Me,_ Exclusively at Flourish and Blotts." _That explains the line,_ thought Rose, seeing copies of the book clutched in eager hands throughout the waiting crowd.

"Why are we following Draco again?" asked Daphne, suddenly worried that they were acting like gryffindors. Chaser's voice in Rose's mind, and the choice language he was using to describe the Malfoys, put a broad grin on Rose's face.

"Wait for it," Rose said in reply, before pointing at the open door to the shop. As if on cue, the girls heard angry shouts and the sounds of a scuffle. Daphne's eyes grew wider as she realized what was happening. Rose nodded toward the door. "Come on, Daph, let's go see the show."

The girls entered Flourish and Blotts just in time to see Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy get separated by the shop's owner and other nearby wizards. The scratch on Mister Weasley's face, coupled with the disarray of Lord Malfoy's hair, hinted that the fight had been brief but vicious. The twins, joined by their older brother Percy, were talking their father down, while Ron and Hermione kept their distance. Draco had done the same, standing next to the counter - and from his expression, Rose could not tell if he had known something would happen or not.

She was convinced, however, that Malfoy the elder had walked into the bookshop planning to start _something_. A fist fight, though? _Not very Slytherin._

"Oof." Rose heard a voice at her feet, and looked down to see a young red-haired girl, probably knocked over in the scuffle. She knelt down, looking the likely first-year student over for injuries. The girl tried to sit up, causing Rose to offer her a hand.

"Here," she said, hoisting the girl to her feet. The girl brushed herself off, straightening her robes, before looking up at her helper.

"Thank you, Miss…. Oh." Rose saw the recognition in the girl's face, the brief flash of surprise shifting into annoyance and…. _fear_? _Red hair, first year… this must be the sister Ron mentioned,_ Rose thought. _The one who hated me for getting sorted into Slytherin._ _Great._

"You must be Ginny," said Rose, in her best imitation of a polite pureblood heiress. "I'm Rose Potter." She held out her hand.

Ginny looked at the hand, then at the slytherin, and back, before taking the hand briefly. "Nice to meet you," she said, unconvincingly.

Rose fought herself, in an effort not to roll her eyes. _All people see is the green,_ she mused. "Ginny, this is Daphne Greengrass. She is in the second year with Ron and I." Daphne nodded to the youngest Weasley, getting a slight nod in return. "Her sister, Astoria, will be in your year."

"A pleasure, Miss Weasley," said Daphne, offering her own hand. Ginny considered her for a moment as well, before returning the handshake.

 _Watch out for Lockhart,_ thought Seeker. _He's signing books, and loves to sneak up on famous second year students and take their picture._ Rose could tell that Seeker was angry - from their talks over the past year, Rose knew him to be as touch-averse as she was. Another legacy of House Dursley.

Lord Malfoy was attempting to say something biting and full of menace, as he tossed one of the Weasley's school books into their cauldron. The girls watched the confrontation - Ginny with concern for her father and anger at Malfoy, while Daphne and Rose tried to figure out whether Lord Malfoy had secretly been a gryffindor. _Charging in, openly bullying a less well-to-do family? No wonder everyone hates Slytherin house._

Malfoy had made a show of storming out of the bookshop when an older woman walked over. She had red hair, just like the Weasley sons, and that - when matched to the look of anger on her face - meant that this could be only one woman.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Weasley," began Rose, stopping Molly Weasley's rant in its tracks. "I don't believe we've met, my name is Rose Potter. I'm in your son Ron's year at Hogwarts." Again she extended her hand.

Molly Weasley looked at the young slytherin before her, with a green and silver ribbon holding back her long black hair, almost matching her mother's green eyes. The girl was dressed in new robes, but not in the high fashion of the old money purebloods. And Molly had seen her help Ginny up - certainly not what the usual snake would have done.

It was as Ron had said - this girl was different.

"I knew your parents, before… well." Molly said. She still had yet to take the offered hand, but her expression hinted at indecision rather than insult. "They were proud gryffindors, and fought for the light."

 _Time to nip this in the bud,_ thought Rose. Stepping forward, Rose leaned in so that only Molly Weasley could hear her. "Mrs. Weasley, what good is the light if it does not shine where the darkness lives?" Molly looked at her, fighting to keep the surprise from her face. "I wear green, but never mistake me for dark."

Molly Weasley, for once, had no response. Rose could tell, however, that she was reconsidering what she knew about the girl-who-lived. _Good,_ thought Rose. Molly's eyes moved up, looking at someone or something behind her. Daphne started turning as well, as if someone was approaching. _Here we go,_ thought Rose. She took a step back, clearing space between her and Mrs. Weasley. Daphne saw the move, and pulled Ginny a few steps back as well.

Rose did not miss the beginnings of a smirk on Daphne's face. She knew what was coming, she had seen it happen to Draco at the beginning of last year.

"Miss Potter! What a pleasant sur-WHAAAA?" The instant Gilderoy Lockhart placed his hand on Rose Potter's shoulder, the girl-who-lived grabbed his wrist and stepped back into his side. The height difference, coupled with Lockhart's surprise, sent the Order of Merlin (3rd Class) winner over the girl's shoulder and onto his back. Molly Weasley looked down at the man, possibly more stunned than he was.

Rose stood there for a moment, looking down at the sputtering author. With a sigh, she reached down to help the man get to his feet. "My apologies, sir, you seem to have startled me." Just as she had planned, the photo in the Daily Prophet the next day was not the girl-who-lived standing menacingly over a living legend, but rather Rose Potter shaking his hand once he had brushed himself off.

"Not at all, Miss Potter, not at all." The man's grin had returned, and he was back to working the crowd. "Those reflexes will serve you well in your defense classes this term." Suddenly, the lengthy book list made sense. _Oh, no, they didn't,_ Rose thought.

 _They did,_ confirmed Marigold. _Madam Longbottom went spare when she heard._

 _I wonder if Auntie will send another Auror to teach when this peacock leaves?_ Chaser wondered.

"So, should I call you Professor Lockhart, then?" Rose asked with a grin.

"Do you all see this, ladies and gentlemen? This one will go far, just you watch!" He walked back toward the signing table, thankfully leaving Rose behind. "Yes, yes, I'm pleased to announce that I have been named the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, starting this year!" The witches and wizards waiting in line saw their cue, and started clapping.

Rose clapped along with the crowd, her false smile planted firmly in place. _Spellforged,_ Rose thought, _what do you think about all this?_

The response was immediate. _Five galleons says he's gone by Yule._

Rose watched as Lockhart started signing books. The vast majority of those in line were witches, and Lockhart made sure to give each one his full attention. Daphne and Rose looked at each other, and Rose could tell that her friend had come to the same conclusion that she had.

 _Put me down for Easter._ Rose replied.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose and Daphne left the bookshop, three sets of school books in hand. Lockhart had offered Rose a complete set of his works, as a thank you for the "demonstration" they had planned for the event. She had promptly handed the gift off to Ginny, in part to soothe the worries of her mother and in part as compensation for her getting knocked over during the fight.

Lord Malfoy was shaking the hand of an Auror when the girls hit the Alley. Apparently, the DMLE had interviewed him about the incident with Arthur Weasley, and found no fault on his part. _Being close friends with the Minister surely had nothing to do with it_ , Rose thought.

It was Narcissa Malfoy who first saw the pair, and a genuine-looking smile crossed the woman's face when she saw Daphne. "Heiress Greengrass, how did you get to be so tall?" The Lady Malfoy walked toward them, ignored by her husband and son.

"In the usual way, Lady Malfoy." Daphne said with a smile, before offering a curtsey. Narcissa scoffed at that, and then wrapped her in a hug. "It has been quite some time since I last enjoyed your hospitality, after all."

"Too long, I think." Narcissa agreed. "And who is your friend?"

Daphne turned to Rose. "Lady Malfoy, may I present the Heiress Potter and the Heiress Black, Rose Potter." Rose gave the required curtsey, only to see the Lady Malfoy offer a curtsey in return. Daphne's face showed no surprise.

"Then as a fellow daughter of the House of Black, may I offer my greetings, Heiress Black." Narcissa said, speaking the formal greeting. She looked Rose in the eye, appraising her, before smiling again. "My son tells me that you had a bit of a disagreement on the train at the end of term?"

Rose smiled right back. "I offered Heir Malfoy my advice and counsel on how to improve his standing within Slytherin House, seeing as he had questioned my own methods."

Narcissa's expression darkened slightly, before returning to its previous pleasant smile. "I see. And what advice did you offer? Perhaps I will reinforce the lesson."

Rose ignored Daphne's look of amusement as she considered her own response. "I suggested to him that, while he and Lord Malfoy are undoubtedly close, it is neither cunning nor ambitious to threaten one's enemies by saying that he will tell his father what they did." She sighed softly, just enough to sound disappointed, rather than angry. "Draco has very good grades, and he could easily be among the top of our house if he stopped making a spectacle of himself."

Narcissa's eyes clouded a bit as she heard what Rose said - and what she left unsaid. "Draco is a proud son of my house, Miss Potter."

"As he should be," Rose responded, agreeably. "But his conduct reflects on Slytherin as well, and there are some who have found that conduct… wanting." She grinned once more. "I simply challenged him to do better, nothing more."

The polite smile faded from Narcissa's face, as she considered that. "I was under the impression that there had been threats made." She glanced at Daphne, who absolutely refused to get involved.

"Not by me," said Rose. "I may have implied that he would be known only as the blonde kid in Rose Potter's year if he did not improve, but that was mostly meant as a joke to lighten the mood. Perhaps he misunderstood my meaning?"

"Perhaps." Now Narcissa glanced back toward her son, who watched their conversation with a look of dread on his face. Lord Malfoy continued to chat with the auror, and saw nothing.

Any further response from Lady Malfoy was cut off by a laughing brunette running between them, wrapping Daphne in a hug. "Larch with unicorn hair!" Astoria shouted, laughing.

The laughter was contagious, as even Narcissa Malfoy found herself smiling. "Undoubtedly a powerful wand, Astoria." She said. Astoria turned and noticed Lady Malfoy and quickly gathered herself, offering the required curtsey.

"Lady Malfoy," she said.

Narcissa chuckled, before acknowledging the greeting. Then she turned and greeted Lady Greengrass, who had caught up to her youngest daughter after she had raced out of Ollivander's.

"Selena, how nice to see you." Narcissa said, as she hugged Daphne and Astoria's mum.

"Likewise, Narcissa." said Selena Greengrass, with a smile. Narcissa had been friends with Daniel Greengrass at Hogwarts, when both were in Slytherin House. Over the years, Selena had gotten to know Narcissa as well, in her own right. Both Greengrasses got along much better with her than with her husband, to the surprise of no one - though Daniel had, on occasion, worked with Lord Malfoy in the Wizengamot, as only a true neutral voice could.

"Narcissa," said Lord Malfoy impatiently, having completed his 'interview'. Lady Malfoy turned to him and nodded.

"I must go, it seems." said Narcissa. "Lovely to see the Greengrass family again, Selena. We will have to have tea sometime, once the girls are on the train." She turned to Rose with a smile, only a hint of annoyance at her husband's summons evident there. "And you, Heiress Potter, it has been a genuine pleasure to finally meet you."

Rose inclined her head, accepting the compliment. "Likewise, Lady Malfoy." And with that, Narcissa Malfoy walked to her family, and the Greengrasses made their way home.

oOoOoOoOo

Daphne Greengrass waited until that evening before confronting Rose. It had not been urgent at all, but her friend's words in the bookshop had bothered her all afternoon.

"Rose," she began. "Did you mean what you said to Ron Weasley's mother? About Slytherin House being the Dark?" Rose could hear a bit of hurt in Daphne's voice, and was surprised to see annoyance across Daphne's face. She rolled her eyes, not to dismiss the concern but at the whole pureblood dance she had had to perform that day.

"Merlin, no, Daphne. But _she_ believed it, and assumed I was dark just because the hat put me there." Rose shook her head. "No, I did not sort myself into the den of snakes just to bring you heathens out of darkness and into the Light." Daphne could hear the capital L in 'Light', and snorted in laughter.

"So you lied to her face, then?" Daphne asked. Not that that would bother her, particularly, but it wasn't something to be done needlessly. Her father had taught her early on that words were as powerful as wands, when used correctly - and that they should never be twisted unnecessarily.

"No, I just took her expectations and turned them on their head." Rose sat back on the couch, thinking that afternoon's interaction over in her mind. "She expected me to be in Gryffindor, as did most of the wizarding world, if the whispers are to be believed. She expects me to be the heir to Dumbledore, fighting the good fight against the dark and so on. So did her daughter, if you noticed." Daphne nodded, she had seen Ginny's look of fear as clearly as Rose had.

"I'm twelve bloody years old," said Rose, tiredly. "I'm not the leader of anything, except maybe, _maybe_ , our year in Slytherin House. That's it. I'm not fighting some crusade against anyone for the kind of spells they study, or for the blood in their veins, or the magic in their wand." She closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath. "I'll fight for my family, my friends, and maybe my house if the rest of the school targets us more than they have. But that's it."

Daphne sighed in relief. "Good, you had me worried for a moment there."

It was Rose's turn to snort. "Daphne, you saw the Heiress Potter today, out there sassing professors and sparring with two very different pureblooded mothers trying to protect their children." She smiled, taking a sip of her tea. "But Heiress Potter is a mask, a front. I'm just Rose, Daph. It's just me."

Daphne chuckled at that. "Rose Potter, when will you figure out that you're not _just_ anything?"

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **By popular request, another Rose chapter. Balancing our time with each of the five has been one of the hardest parts of this fic, so far - and I know that Chaser has gotten a bit shortchanged in that. (Part of why he got such a spectacular confrontation with Quirrellmort, honestly.) I hope to change that, this year - as well as hint at the paths these characters will be walking as we go forward.**

 **Many thanks, as always, to the readers over at the DP &SW Discord, who keep talking me down from revealing secrets and jumping the gun on some of the exciting things I have planned for future chapters. **

**We are nowhere near discussing the Hallows or the Master of Death here, but if you are looking for a fic where Death takes a more, well, hands-on approach to Harry's situation, consider reading _Harry Potter, Master of Death_ , by Pseudonominal, here on ffn. **

**Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	27. Full English Foreshadowing

Director Ragnok had surprised Spellforged when he invited Hermione to join them for their pre-Hogwarts breakfast.

Early that morning, Spellforged had been summoned to the bank floor to meet the Grangers and guide Hermione into the residential areas of the bank. After assuring her parents that he would get her to the platform on time, Harry had lifted her trunk and taken her on a brief tour of his home.

The Director's quarters were not lavish, as might be expected for the so-called 'Goblin King'. There were ceremonial spaces that would meet those expectations, on the few occasions when it was needful to do so. Ragnok had always leaned into the 'Director' role, and it showed in his modest quarters.

Harry's room was just as modest, smaller than Hermione expected it to be - but, for all that, quite comfortable. A large desk dominated one corner of the room, with papers and books meticulously organized. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the large bookshelf, even though many of the tomes had their titles printed in what she had learned was the Goblin tongue. One book caught her attention, however, and she lifted the small, red leather book from the shelf.

"Sun Tzu, The Art of War?" She read, eyebrow arched in surprise. This was not the sort of book she had expected to find. Harry grinned at her, before opening the front cover. Inside, there was an inscription in the precise calligraphy of the Goblins.

"To my son," he read. "Learn these lessons well, that you may never need them." He closed the book, looking down at it for a moment before placing it back on the shelf. "Father gave me that book on my tenth birthday, and it's probably one of my favorites. You'd enjoy it, I think."

Hermione nodded. "I'm surprised you don't bring it with you to Hogwarts."

Another grin. "I may have gotten a second copy." He nodded to the shelf. "I wouldn't want to lose this one, after all."

The pair made their way to the small private dining room, where they found Director Ragnok reading the Daily Prophet. He smiled and rose as they entered. "Harry, Miss Granger, welcome. Please join me."

Hermione greeted the Director with a handshake, as Harry had suggested - this was not a formal occasion, and Ragnok was not one for unneeded formality. The old goblin's nod of approval showed that Harry had been right. The three of them sat down, Ragnok at the head of the table, with Harry and Hermione at his sides. They chatted about the school year to come, about their classes, and a bit about the Grangers, while Harry wondered who else would be joining them. The food would have been served otherwise, he reasoned.

Ragnok caught Hermione reading the Daily Prophet in front of him, or trying to, and slid it across the table. He chuckled when she realized that it was in the Goblin tongue. Turning to Harry, he tapped a finger on the paper. "Would my son like to perform for our guest?" He said with a grin.

Spellforged rolled his eyes, but kept the look of amusement Hermione's reaction had brought. "Of course, father." He placed a hand on the newspaper, muttering an incantation. Hermione watched as the Goblin words rearranged themselves into English.

"That's wandless magic, how did you do that?" She asked, still staring at the paper.

"It's not wandless magic, Hermione, it's Goblin magic. We don't usually carry wands, remember?" Spellforged chuckled.

"But, how did you translate the whole newspaper?" She was flipping through the pages, seeing that the whole thing had indeed gone back to English.

"Well…. I may have cheated." This got a bark of laughter from Ragnok, and a look from Hermione. "I didn't translate the newspaper, I just reversed the spell that did." Hermione stared at him, then looked over at Ragnok - wisely not demanding an explanation, but knowing her expression would be pleading for one.

The Director chuckled again. "We have clerks who train to mastery level in languages, Miss Granger. They have advanced magic that can translate simple documents such as this. Contracts, agreements, treaties, all have patterns that make such a trick even simpler." he nodded at Spellforged. "Harry can reverse most of those magics, but his training has not yet progressed to the point where he can use them."

Hermione wanted to ask more about Harry's training - and about whether she could learn as well - when another goblin entered the dining room. This goblin was slightly taller than Ragnok, and wore layered robes in a deep green color that suited the low light of the caverns. Her features were more delicate than Ragnok's, almost elfin in quality. She seemed to be younger than the Director, except that her eyes had the look of ancient wisdom to them - this woman had seen many things.

She realized that she had stood up to greet the new arrival before the Director and Harry. The response had been automatic - this woman was one to be respected.

The Director spoke. "Mister Spellforged, Miss Granger, may I present the Lady Eridani, one of our Elders." He indicated each of them in turn. "Lady Eridani, I present Miss Hermione Granger of the Granger Family, and Harry Spellforged of Clan Ragnok, the Heir Potter, the Heir Black."

Hermione found herself bowing to Lady Eridani, almost as a reflex, and noted that Harry had done the same.

"Please, we need no formalities here, children, please sit down." Lady Eridani spoke with a pleasant voice, light with the whisper of a musical quality. Her eyes went to the Director. "Do not let me be the cause of these two being late to their train, Ragnok."

The Director smiled at her. "Of course, Lady Eridani." Without further preamble, Hermione watched as a full English breakfast appeared on the table. Having expected Goblin fare, she looked at Spellforged questioningly.

Ragnok saw the glance and laughed. "This is a breakfast for Spellforged's departure, surely you aren't surprised that he picked the menu?" He started in on his plate, the signal for the others to do so as well.

Their earlier conversation continued during breakfast, with Ragnok asking Hermione about her impressions of the magical world, and comparing her experiences as a non-magical to Harry's experiences growing up in what had been an essentially muggle home.

"I didn't start living here until I was six or so," explained Harry. "Mother believed, correctly I think, that going from a muggle home straight to these caverns would have been a bit of a shock." He smiled. "Madam Sullivan spent two years inching me into the magical world, very very slowly. It was quite a surprise when I came downstairs after bedtime one night and found her doing the dishes with her wand!"

"And then," Ragnok said, picking up the thread of the tale. "I visited one day, hoping to see my adopted son. But he was nowhere to be found. Madam Sullivan and her brother went outside to search for him, thinking perhaps he was playing outside with a neighbor. I, meanwhile, heard movement in the upstairs."

Harry chuckled. "He found me in mom's study, reading an old book on wards and curse breaking." He held up his napkin, draped over his hand like a puppet. "My hands were wrapped in old shirts, because I knew I wasn't supposed to touch the old books mom kept - so I didn't." The four laughed at the mental image of a young Harry sneaking off to read.

oOoOoOoOo

After breakfast, and what had to be the oddest morning Hermione could remember, Harry and Hermione said their goodbyes. Ragnok wished Hermione the best in the new term, and encouraged her to keep his son out of too much trouble. Harry's scoff at that notion drew more chuckles from the group. While Harry was saying goodbye to Ragnok, Lady Eridani shook hands with Hermione.

"Take care of yourself, Miss Granger." She said, her voice sounding like bells.

"I will, Lady Eridani. Thank you for the kind words." Hermione bowed slightly out of respect, and again it was almost automatic.

"Not at all. Actually," Lady Eridani stepped closer. "Perhaps you can help me with something."

"Of course."

Eridani looked at her, her expression curious. "As you might imagine, English is not my first language, and some of the more complicated words give me trouble. Tell me, Miss Granger, do you know what the English word 'Brigadier' means?"

Hermione blinked. _Not what I expected to be asked,_ she thought. "It's a type of General, like a military leader but for a smaller group of soldiers or warriors."

Lady Eridani nodded, as if that had been the answer she expected. "And what about the word 'Bastion'?"

 _What an odd quiz_. "That would be a part of a castle that protects the rest, like a line of defense." She looked at Lady Eridani, trying to decipher the meaning behind those questions. "Harry might be a better person to ask about military matters, actually."

A wave of the goblin elder's hand dismissed the concern. "It was merely a question of translation, Miss Granger. We had some documents come in that used those terms, and I wanted to make sure I understood them properly." She nodded to Harry, who was still deep in conversation with Ragnok. "And my usual resource for English translation is busy at the moment."

Hermione chuckled. "In that case, I am glad to have been of service, Lady Eridani."

"You're Harry's closest friend, Miss Granger," Eridani replied. "You've already helped him more than you know." Harry and Ragnok were walking over to them now, she saw. "And now it is time for your journey, I believe."

Soon, Harry and Hermione were standing in front of the Director's private floo, trunks in hand, ready to go to King's Cross station. But when they threw the powder into the fireplace, the green flames disappeared the instant they shouted their destination.

Ragnok's anger was growing, but Spellforged calmed him down. "We can connect to the Three Broomsticks, see? The flames stay green. So why don't we just go straight there, and then walk up to the castle?"

"Will your cousin be alright?" Hermione asked. Erik Sullivan, Anna Sullivan's nephew and Harry's adoptive cousin, was starting his first year today. The boy had looked forward to seeing Harry on the train.

"You can reunite with young Mister Sullivan when he arrives at the castle, Harry," said Ragnok. He looked again at the floo. "I'm more concerned about someone tampering with a Gringott's floo point."

"Me too." said Harry, simply.

Ragnok went to his office, to send an official Gringott's letter to Professor Flitwick explaining the problem they had discovered, and letting him know that his students would floo in shortly before the train's arrival that evening. Hermione and Harry, for their part, sat back with their books and began to read. Since that was largely what they had planned for the train ride anyway, it was not a major imposition.

Hermione watched Harry as he appeared to close his eyes in thought. She could see his expression darken, however, and wondered just where his thoughts were at that moment.

She had no way of knowing that he was discussing the situation with the link - and learning that he was not the only one having problems getting on the train that day.

oOoOoOoOo

Lady Eridani entered her study with a look of contentment on her face.

It was not due to the delicious breakfast she had enjoyed, though the human fare had been a welcome change of pace. She had especially liked the tea that had been served, and had resolved to purchase some of this 'Earl Grey' for herself.

Nor had it been the conversation, though that had been delightful as well. As one of the Elders of the Goblin Nation, Lady Eridani rarely got the opportunity to chat - and the breakfast discussions about the muggle world, the concerns of schoolchildren, and other inconsequential matters had been a breath of fresh air.

She walked to the back wall of her study, looking at the large slate she had had mounted there. Across one side was a prophecy - or what she thought was a prophecy, at least. When the young seer had detected it, several years prior, she had recorded its contents in a blend of Elder Futhark runes and some other unknown language. Deciphering the meaning of the text had been a long-term project for the Lady Eridani.

And after today's breakfast, she had two more pieces of the puzzle. Carefully, she added the new terms to the translated version on the right side of the board. There was a reason that she had not asked Harry about these terms, why she had not taken the matter to the usual translators. This, simply put, was too important - especially with Harry being the subject of another prophecy. Young Miss Granger, a budding scholar, was a resource she had not expected to find, and she had almost impulsively gotten the girl's aid. If she remained in Harry's life, she might someday come to learn what she had been asked, of course. But it was a small matter.

Reading over the text, she sighed. It seemed like a summoning ritual, and had it not come from a seer she would have explored that avenue of study. But one rune, meaning _renewal_ , was repeated throughout the text - and its english counterpart was the letter 'B'. The first half of the prophecy, written in runes, was simple. But its meaning would be anything but.

 **/Come brigadier,/** she muttered, looking at her extensive notes. She added a notation to the next phrase. **/Come bastion,/** Another notation joined the first. Brigadier was a complex word indeed, and she hoped that translating that will help in translating what appeared to be the simpler terms still remaining. There were seven lines like this one, summoning seven people, or one person with seven qualities. And these two, the second and third she had translated, could fit together - a general fighting in defense of something.

But then she saw the last line, the one that had been translated first. **/Come home ye banished./** This gave her pause - for a banished general would not be fighting a defensive war. This was a phrase indicating an invader, something or someone sent away, doomed to return.

She knew of the prophecy with Harry and the Dark Lord, perhaps Voldemort was the Banished?

The remainder of the text was in another language, except for the last line. And in all the centuries of Goblin scholarship in languages, no record existed of this language and its odd script. Not in any citadel of the Goblin Nation, worldwide, had these words been seen.

The last line was why this was her project, perhaps her obsession. The last line was why she had notified Ragnok, why she had devoted her resources to this question, and why she had passed her duties to some of the more junior seers.

The last line? That scared her, for the first time in over a century.

 **/They will visit death upon ye sevenfold./**

* * *

 ** _A/N:_ A short one. This was initially part of the next chapter, but then the second prophecy snuck in when I was distracted. It was always going to pop up sooner rather than later (or else it would not have been mentioned way back in the prologue), so this works. And I did say that Lady Eridani would stop by to see Spellforged at some point, so here we go. **

**On Rose and Slytherin - The core question of Rose Potter's entire arc through this work, from start to finish, will focus on how being in Slytherin House changes her as a person - and, conversely, how her presence and conduct changes Slytherin House. We might well get into some of that as Year Two begins.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	28. Dobby's Detours

Such was the excitement in the Greengrass household that Daphne and Astoria Greengrass were packed and ready to leave before the sun rose on September 1st. Rose Potter was ready as well, but that was more the force of habit than anything else. She had spent the summer living out of her trunk, splitting time between the Dursleys, the Greengrasses, and the Davises. It had been a wonderful summer, easily the best she could remember.

Only her first summer might compete for best ever, but she didn't spend too much time considering that.

Astoria spent breakfast grumbling about how the Express really should leave earlier in the morning. Daphne replied that then the gryffindors would sleep in and miss the train, and then how would the Headmaster award them the House Cup? Rose, having heard Seeker and Chaser both get forcibly woken up that morning, couldn't help but laugh.

As the Greengrasses made sure they were forgetting nothing, Rose approached Lady Greengrass.

"Selena," she began, having only recently gotten into the habit of addressing the Lady Greengrass by her first name. "Thank you again for opening your home to me this summer."

"You always have a home here, Rose." Selena Greengrass replied, a warm smile on her face. "And I don't want to hear anything about paying us back for our hospitality, young lady."

"I, but…" Rose sputtered. How had she known?

Selena laughed. "This wasn't a transaction, Rose. We welcomed you because Lily would have welcomed Daphne and Astoria if the circumstances were reversed." She leaned forward, wrapping Rose in a hug - and smiling again when Rose did not cringe as she would have a year ago. "Rose, Lily Potter might as well have been my sister. And you and Daphne are inseparable. Face it, kid, you're family."

Rose closed her eyes. "I… wow, it's so strange to hear that out loud." She opened her eyes, now growing wet, and looked up at her hostess. "Thank you."

"No, Rose, thank you." Selena gave her another hug. "Now, I think, it's time to get going. The girls will want to step into the floo the instant it opens, I suspect."

Rose laughed. "You're probably right."

Lady Greengrass and Rose Potter entered the floo room to find the Greengrass sisters staring intently at the old grandfather clock next to the fireplace.

The clock read _10:29_.

Rose leaned over to Selena. "Should we tell them that the floo at the platform opens at ten o'clock?"

"No it doesn't!" said Astoria. She threw a pinch of powder into the floo, watched them turn their trademark green, and then shouted "Platform Nine and Three Quarters!" The green flames turned immediately red again, signaling that there was no destination, or that the destination was closed.

Selena looked puzzled. "That shouldn't happen." She walked over, seeing that the clock had ticked over to _10:30_ , and tried herself. Nothing.

Another pinch of powder. "Verdant Imports!" Selena shouted. The flames remained green, and presently Lord Greengrass's head appeared in the flames.

"Honey?" asked Daniel Greengrass. "Are the girls alright?"

"They are," said Selena cautiously. "But I have a very anxious first year who can't seem to get the floo to connect to King's Cross. Could you try?"

"Of course. Give me a moment." The flames went back to red, as Lord Greengrass tried the connection on his end.

"What if it doesn't work?" asked Astoria, clearly starting to panic.

"Then I will side-along you to the platform, and I imagine your father will break away to help get your sister and Rose there as well." Selena hugged her youngest. "Don't worry."

Before she could respond, the flames again turned green, and Lord Greengrass stepped through. Brushing himself off, he looked at his wife.

"I don't know what is happening here, but I know that I can connect to the platform from my office - even stepped through and back. So I'm going to suggest that we bring the girls through to my office, and then send them on to the platform." Daniel looked at the floo, still trying to figure out what had happened. He saw the look on Astoria's face, the complete relief there, and grinned. "Don't worry, Tori, we'll get you on that train."

Lord Greengrass picked up a pinch of floo powder. "Verdant Imports!"

oOoOoOoOo

Amelia watched as the flames turned red once again, before closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm really too old for this nonsense." She muttered.

James Potter chuckled at his friend and her annoyance. "It could be worse, you know. We could be running late."

Susan and Chaser watched as the two adults tried to figure out what had happened to the floo. James had already said that they would just side-along apparate to the platform, leaving plenty of time to solve the puzzle of the broken floo, as Susan had termed it. The turn of phrase had thoroughly annoyed her Aunt Amelia, who enjoyed a good mystery novel when she had the time.

There was a reason she had gone to work for the DMLE, after all. She could not leave a mystery alone. And this was definitely a mystery.

After a few minutes, Susan leaned over to Chaser. "I wonder if that elf messed with the floo."

James and Amelia whipped their heads around, both looking intently at the Heiress Bones. "What elf?" asked James.

Chaser's eyes grew wide. "Well, um, remember when my presents got lost on my birthday?" James nodded, and Amelia now watched her niece, eyes narrowed.

"Well, we may have figured out what happened." Chaser looked sheepish, as he and Susan and Neville had decided not to mention the elf to their parents and guardians. Madam Longbottom would have gotten angry, James would have worried about security around the manor, and Madam Bones would have started an investigation, tipping off the Malfoys in the process.

The look on her face said she that she still might. "Care to tell me what happened, Miss Bones?"

It was Susan's turn to look sheepish. "There was a house elf, who said that Harry shouldn't go back to Hogwarts because there was danger."

"Of course there's danger," said James, earning a glare from Amelia. "I mean, he plays quidditch, after all. And he did kind of incinerate a professor last year, if you'll recall."

Amelia Bones rolled her eyes. "Fair point, I suppose." She looked back at her niece. "Which elf was it, Susan. One of ours?"

She shook her head. Harry saw her eyes go to the floor, and decided to rescue her. "He said his name was Dobby, Auntie."

James reacted first. "MALFOY?" If the floo had been working, Lord Potter would have gone straight to Malfoy Manor, wand in hand.

"Yes, dad, it was a Malfoy elf." Harry said, firmly. "But he couldn't tell us what the danger was, just that there was danger. And that I shouldn't return to school." He shrugged. "That's why he hid my presents and kept my mail, he wanted me to think I had no friends."

"Bloody buggering hell," muttered James. Amelia reached over and smacked the back of his head.

"Language, James."

"Yes, Director," said Senior Auror Potter, abashed.

The clock on the wall struck _10:45_ with a gong, earning a glance from Madam Bones.

"Well, you two, don't think I'm going to drop this." Amelia's expression softened. "But for now, you have a train to catch. Grab your trunks, and we'll be on our way."

oOoOoOoOo

Marigold Potter watched as Ginny Weasley scribbled in her new diary. _Hope it was worth making us late_ , she thought. The Weasleys had had to turn around and head back to the Burrow to retrieve the book, after Ginny forgot it. Had the girl not come close to a full-blown panic attack, they might not have bothered - but Ginny was the baby of the Weasley family, and Marigold had argued in favor of the detour as well.

She had seen panic attacks like that. She had had them. No need to make an already stressful day moreso.

They had gotten to the station with ten minutes to spare, and that became five minutes once they got trunks and bags and cages sorted out among the six students.

The twins waited for no one, charging straight through the barrier. Mister and Mrs. Weasley followed closely behind, mainly to make sure that their wayward sons actually got on the train. Percy sighed and walked through with a protesting Ron.

Ginny suddenly looked nervous, but Marigold's hand on her shoulder seemed to calm her down. "You've done this before, Gin. Just walk straight through. I'll be right there with you." Ginny nodded, clearly still worried. But she walked forward, pushing her cart alongside Marigold's.

The crash took both of them by surprise. Then Ginny got another surprise when Marigold began swearing in Goblin.

oOoOoOoOo

Seeker Potter, still on the ground where he had fallen, watched as Ron Weasley brushed himself off. Their carts were in disarray, and his trunk was on its side. The barrier, meanwhile, was unchanged.

Ron walked up and touched the bricks, finding them solid. "Blimey," he said to himself.

"We're going to miss it," Seeker said. The Weasley family had already been running late, and Ron and Harry had been the last of them to attempt to reach the platform. Now they had about five minutes to get on the train, with no way to get past the barrier.

"We've got to do something," said Ron, stacking his trunk back on the cart.

"I know, I know. Give me a second." Seeker closed his eyes, sitting down on the nearby bench. _Anyone else having problems with the barrier this morning?_

 _Try out your mage sight, Seeker, and tell me what you see._ Spellforged sounded more annoyed than he had been in quite a while, making Seeker think that yes, he was not alone in his problems. Harry stood and quietly said the incantation, making the hand gesture as he did so. The mist fell over his eyes, and the platform lit up with color.

Seeker saw that one of the security guards on the muggle side of the platform had a red glow on his arm - a wand in a holster, probably - and a bright green glow in his jacket pocket. _An auror?_ He filed that away as an option, before turning his attention to the barrier, which glowed with a purple light.

 _It's purple,_ he reported.

 _That'd be elf magic,_ replied Spellforged. _Dobby._

 _Dobby,_ agreed Seeker. _So now what?_

Ron Weasley watched as Harry sat down on the bench, seemingly unconcerned about missing the train. If his parents were coming back out to the muggle platform, he wouldn't have worried, but they were flooing to the alley to have lunch with Bill, who was in town for a few days. They'd be back to get the car later, but by then it'd be too late.

The car. The car!

By this point, Harry had closed his eyes, and seemed to be in some sort of trance. _Should have gotten more sleep, mate_ , thought Ron. "Oi, Harry!"

One eye opened. "Yeah?"

"We can take the car! We just need to fly over top of the train, and follow it to the castle. Easy!"

Harry nodded. "We could do that." He shrugged his shoulders, as if waking up. "Or - and hear me out on this, because it's a little bit off the wall even for me - we could ask that auror to take us to Hogsmeade, and then screw around in the village for the afternoon."

Ron turned, and looked at the security guard. "What, him? He's a muggle, yeah?"

A grin spread across Seeker's face. "Bet you a galleon that he's not."

Ron was tired and worried - and eager to fly the car on his own. "Right, you're on." Harry waved his hand at the man, offering Ron the chance to win his galleon. Ron took the challenge in stride, walking up to the tall dark-skinned man.

"Excuse me, sir, could you help my friend and I?" Ron asked, meekly. "We've missed our train, you see."

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked at the boy in front of him, and then at the bench - where he saw two school trunks, an empty owl cage, and the boy-who-lived. He smiled down at the boy, in his best impression of a muggle copper wasting his time. Just to be safe, though… "Which platform were you looking for, son?"

"Platform 9 and three quarters, sir."

"Ah, well, you should just make it if you go now. Come along." He walked with Ron over to the barrier.

"It's simple, all you need to do is walk through this…. " Kingsley trailed off, as his hand met solid brick. "...solid brick wall. Hang on a minute," he said, confused. Leaning back, he looked at one of the large clocks lining the muggle side of the platform. _10:58._ "Well, seems like they closed the barrier a little early today, boys." He reached into his pocket for his muggle-style auror badge.

"Sir," began Harry. "Could you help us floo up to Hogsmeade? We can meet the train there, or walk up to the castle."

Kingsley looked at the boy. Now that the train was almost certainly on its way, the floo was probably their best option. He could side-along apparate them, but two students and their luggage might be a little too much to handle safely on his own. No, the floo would be simplest. And the Leaky Cauldron was an easy walk from King's Cross Station.

"Since the barrier closed on you, and you were here on time after all, I suppose I can get you there." Kingsley wagged a finger at them in mock scolding. "Just remember to arrive early next time, Mister Potter."

Harry nodded, chuckling. "Yes sir, Master Auror, Sir."

"Just Auror, actually. Kingsley Shacklebolt." Harry took his offered hand, shaking it.

"Harry Potter, sir, and this is my friend Ron Weasley." Ron shook hands with the auror as well. Kingsley paused, taking another look at Ron.

"I know your parents, Mister Weasley. Good people."

Ron smiled, sheepishly. "Thank you, sir. And for helping us out."

"It's nothing." Kingsley said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "That's why they send one of us out here, just in case. Here, let me check in and then we'll be on our way." With that, he took out his badge to signal the DMLE as to his unscheduled trip to Hogsmeade. As he did so, he saw Ron Weasley reluctantly handing a galleon over to Harry Potter.

oOoOoOoOo

Hermione and Spellforged returned to the same private dining room from breakfast, finding a simple spread of sandwiches and salads. Ragnok did not join them - he was busy trying to find out why every floo in Gringott's seemed incapable of connecting to King's Cross Station that morning.

Hermione took a sandwich and sat down, continuing to read her book. Spellforged took his own seat, closing his eyes again to reach out to the link.

Marigold was the first to check in. _Seeker told me that there was an auror on the muggle side of the platform, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Nice man. He took Ginny and I to the Leaky Cauldron, and floo'ed with us to Hogsmeade. Then he walked us up to the castle._

 _Yeah, he was pretty nice,_ confirmed Seeker. _He showed us where the kitchens are at Hogwarts, since the elves don't serve lunch in the great hall before the students arrive._

 _You'll both have to tell us how to find our way down there,_ said Rose. _Daphne and Astoria and I made it onto the train, but we had to floo through her dad's office to make it._ Spellforged could hear her annoyance. _It seems that Dobby blocked the floo where he knew we were, but didn't stop us from flooing somewhere else first._

 _Well, Auntie Amelia is going to want to have words with that elf,_ said Chaser. _We may have let it slip that we thought he was behind this, and dad almost went to Malfoy Manor right then._

 _Seeker checked the barrier, it was an elf who blocked it,_ said Spellforged. _We're going to need to have a talk with Dobby._

 _Agreed,_ said Rose.

 _I just hope he gets the hint when we return to Hogwarts, and leaves us alone._ Marigold's comments drew groans from Chaser.

 _Marigold, my dear sister, did you have to say that? Now we know something else will happen._ They could hear the chuckle in Chaser's thoughts, but his point was a serious one - none of them knew what Dobby would do next.

"You'll have to teach me how to do that," Spellforged heard Hermione say. He opened his eyes, and saw her watching him.

"How do you mean?" he asked.

She smiled. "You just closed your eyes, and it was like you were somewhere else. I could even see you moving slightly, as if you were having a conversation."

 _Oh, it's nothing, I was just having a brief meeting with four other versions of myself from parallel universes, no big deal._

To Hermione, he shrugged. "It's actually a muggle technique for meditation, I'll teach you sometime. It helps to organize your thoughts."

"I could use that, sometimes," she admitted, returning to her book. Spellforged stood up, noticing that half an hour had passed during his 'conference'. He went to make himself a sandwich.

oOoOoOoOo

As it turned out, the train ran about half an hour slower that evening, for whatever reason. This resulted in Spellforged and Hermione walking up to the castle on their own. The light, almost misting rain did little to slow them down, as both were eager to get to the castle. Missing the train had not been a huge loss, in the broader scheme of events, but Hermione could tell that he regretted not seeing his cousin.

They stood in the entrance hall, looking at the empty great hall. The tables were set and ready for the start of another year, the candles were floating there as usual, and the banners were clean and bright with their proud house colors. Spellforged turned around, seeing the massive hourglasses that tracked house points. Each house started with the usual 100 points, mainly so that everyone could tell which hourglass was which before the start of term. The gems that tracked those points were almost glittering with color, as if they, too, were eager for the start of the year.

But for all that, the castle felt… empty.

Spellforged watched as Hermione cast a drying charm on her cloak, wondering if she would teach it to him, seeing as they now had some time to kill. Then his eyes went back to the great oaken doors and the courtyard beyond. The rain had gone from a mist to a drizzle, and threatened to turn into a proper rain.

"Hermione, I just got an idea." He ignored her feigned look of annoyance. "Come on, you'll love it. Follow me."

oOoOoOoOo

Erik Sullivan was nervous.

The train ride had been fun, despite the fact that his cousin Harry had been nowhere to be found. He had gone to the back compartment, hoping to find his wayward cousin, but instead found several first years.

One of them had kept to herself for most of the ride, writing in what looked like a notebook or diary of some sort. The red haired girl introduced herself as Ginny Weasley, and said that she wanted to be in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Then she had gone back to her writing.

A blonde girl found them next. She had been friends with Ginny, as apparently they lived in the same village. Her name was Luna Lovegood, and she was very nice. She even offered him a copy of the Quibbler, her father's newspaper. Never one to say no to free reading material, Erik had accepted the newspaper - and ended up giving the girl a galleon to pay for a subscription by the end of the train ride.

When he asked what house she thought she'd be in, he got a smile in return. "Oh, I'll be in Ravenclaw with you."

"How do you figure that?" He had not said where he hoped to end up, nor had he mentioned his reasons for wanting Ravenclaw.

She nodded to the copy of the Quibbler in front of him. "A hufflepuff would accept a newspaper from a stranger just to be polite, and then put it away. A gryffindor would probably tell me 'No, thanks,' and then chat with their friends. A slytherin would not have sat down in the first place, not with a pair of first years they didn't know. But a ravenclaw? You accepted that newspaper, and then read it immediately. You wanted to know what it said." She smiled at him. "We'll be wearing blue before the night is out."

Another girl had stopped by, looking for Harry, and got trapped in their compartment when the snack trolley came by. "One of the disadvantages of being at the back of the train," Erik had said. He offered his hand to the girl. "Erik Sullivan."

The brunette smiled and returned the handshake. "Astoria Greengrass."

As it turned out, Astoria Greengrass was fairly sure that she would end up in Slytherin, where her sister was a second year. But she was open to the possibility of Ravenclaw, as she loved to read even more than her sister did. And her mother had been in Ravenclaw.

Erik got the impression that his cousin's presence in Ravenclaw had something to do with it as well. Astoria was not the only student they had seen who wanted to meet the boy-who-lived. He could almost picture the eye roll Harry would give him when he recounted the story.

When the train arrived, Harry still had not come and found him. Nor did Erik see him getting into the carriages that carried the older students to the castle. A large man named Hagrid directed the first years to boats, which ended Erik's brief search. He hoped Harry was waiting at the castle.

Erik helped Luna and Ginny into a boat, before climbing in himself. A small boy named Colin Creevey joined them, a muggle camera in his hands. He, too, thought he'd end up in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.

As the boats left the dock, Erik chuckled to himself. _Ravenclaw is popular this year,_ he mused. _Surely it's a coincidence that Harry wears Blue._

"Watch yer heads!" shouted Hagrid, and the four ducked under some branches. When their boat cleared the pointe, they saw it. Hogwarts, lit up like a million candles in the evening sky. Even the light rain could not ruin the moment.

Erik smiled when he heard Colin's camera clicking. He decided to ask for a copy of that picture later on.

By the time they arrived, several of the first years were shivering in their damp robes. Hagrid led them up the stairs to an antechamber, where they were to wait for the Deputy Headmistress. When they came to the last stretch of stairs, however, they saw a surprise on the first landing. Two Ravenclaws were standing there, a boy and a girl, waving their wands at the first years.

Erik saw Astoria walk past the girl, and a puff of air caught her long hair - which was now dry, to her amazement. Another wave of the wand, and her robes had dried as well. He did not recognize the girl, but the boy - _aha_.

"Harry!" he said, as he came near. Harry Spellforged heard him, and looked over - a broad grin across his face. He waved, before returning to his drying and warming charms. When it was Erik's turn, Harry dried him off first, before wrapping him in a bear hug.

"Erik - it's good to see you. Train ride go ok?" Harry saw the line behind his cousin, and tried to keep it brief.

"It was brilliant - I already met a few new ravenclaws, I think."

Harry laughed. "Doesn't matter where they put you, kid."

"I know, _Dad_. We'll talk later, Harry." They both laughed at that, before Harry moved on to the next first year in line.

When all of the first years had been dried off, a tired looking pair of Ravenclaws walked up to the doors at the top of the staircase. Hagrid chuckled at them, before clapping one of his mighty hands on Harry's shoulder. An older witch in dark green robes entered the antechamber at that point, looking with surprise at Harry and Hermione. Hagrid gave Harry a little nudge, and Harry shook his head.

"The firs' years, Per'fessor McGonagall," he said, in his best impression of Hagrid. The first years laughed at him, and even the Deputy Headmistress cracked a bit of a smile.

"Yes, Mister Spellforged, thank you. And you, Miss Granger. Ten points each to Ravenclaw. Now, if you would be so kind, please join your classmates in the Great Hall."

Erik watched his cousin give him a little wave and a thumbs up, before walking through the doors and into Hogwarts. As Professor McGonagall began her speech, Erik smiled. He was home.

 ** _A/N:_** **Thus begins Year Two. One of the most consistent compliments I get is that each of the five has their own voice. I hope that comes through in chapters like this, where we have our full company on display - along with some new faces. U** **nless it's mentioned specifically, most sortings will hew to canon. But I will be playing a bit with that, as I did with Astoria (who is a year older than canon, here, because reasons). As before, you should not need a chart to keep everything straight (though I do).**

 **Verdant Imports is a reference to the Greengrass family law firm in the excellent Novocaine, by** **StardustWarrior2991, here on ffn. If you're a fan of well-written post-war fics, or a fan of Harry/Daphne as a pairing, then you should be reading that work.**

 **Anything I say about the second prophecy will spoil things, so I'll just say that more clues will be coming. We have plenty of time.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	29. Differences and Distinctions

Seeker was relieved when he learned that all five of them had made it to the welcoming feast. It gave them a chance to work on another project that Spellforged had talked them into. Now that they were not nervous first years, newly connected by a mind link they still didn't fully understand, they could properly enjoy the sorting ceremony.

Spellforged, ever the Ravenclaw, wanted to understand the differences between their worlds. The subtle differences they saw at the wizengamot suggested that the list of new first years - and their houses - might reveal other differences between worlds.

After all, they had already seen one major change - themselves. Each world had a different boy or girl who lived, and Spellforged believed that that fact alone would shift things at the sorting. His cousin had already reported several students who planned to try for Ravenclaw - no doubt due to his presence. Would the others see the same?

Seeker watched as the first years walked in, with their nervous glances around the crowded great hall and their looks of wonder as they saw the enchanted ceiling. For some, this was their first real taste of the wizarding world - and a moment that would shape everything that came after.

The hat sang its song (the same song in each world, it seemed), and the first names were called. It did not take long for the first change to appear, when Marigold's list had Brown, Cecil. The boy was quickly sorted into Gryffindor, where Lavender Brown cheered the loudest for what had to be her little brother.

None of the others had a Cecil Brown. Marigold learned a week later that he had been born prematurely - just early enough to make it into that year's group. Perhaps the others would see Cecil next year?

Creevey, Colin, was sorted into Gryffindor in all five worlds, some quicker than others. The length of the sorting seemed to vary slightly, but they had not thought to keep track of that detail. Marigold remarked that it might cause talk if they kept a stopwatch and wrote down the length of each sorting.

The next change was Astoria Greengrass. In Rose's world, she went to Slytherin immediately. Chaser and Marigold reported the same, though there she was under the hat for a minute or so. Seeker watched the brunette under the hat, and saw her smile softly before the hat shouted SLYTHERIN! He caught Daphne's smug smile as her sister joined the snakes.

As Harper, Aaron walked forward, Seeker heard Spellforged's surprised muttering.

oOoOoOoOo

Spellforged watched as Astoria Greengrass entered her fifth minute of sorting.

Rose had been surprised as well, of course, seeing how rapidly her Astoria had been sorted into Slytherin. Spellforged wondered which houses were in the discussion between hat and witch. This sorting was already the longest so far, in his great hall.

He had heard about the younger Greengrass sister from Rose, and wondered how his Astoria differed from hers. He made a notation on his list. Anthony Goldstein chuckled at the sight of the notebook, which had quickly become one of Spellforged's trademark possessions. Any time the boy-who-lived was seen scribbling in the small book, his housemates knew that he was working on some problem that he couldn't (yet!) figure out. For Ravenclaw house, that sort of thing was nothing new.

Spellforged was writing each name as it was called, adding in Cecil Brown, and then marking which house they were sorted into, once for each world. The Goblin Nation had perfected shorthand, as it happened - quite useful for bankers, it turned out. That made keeping up with five sortings at once much easier than it would have been otherwise.

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat. Astoria stood, grinning, before handing the hat over to Professor McGonagall. Then, to a round of polite applause from the hall, she made her way over to her new house. Spellforged was making his notation when he realized that she had sat down next to him.

He smiled politely at the grinning brunette. "Welcome to Ravenclaw, Miss Greengrass."

"Thank you, Heir Potter." She nodded her head at him, the best she could do with the formal greeting while seated. Applause from the Slytherin table drew their attention, as Aaron Harper was sorted into the silver and green. Both Harry and Astoria took the opportunity to look at the end of the Slytherin table, where a frowning blonde was staring at the newest ravenclaw.

"She doesn't look happy," said Astoria, almost to herself. She waved to her sister, which only got Daphne to give her a more intense glare.

"No," agreed Hermione, sitting across the table from the worried brunette. "No, she does not."

Spellforged looked over to his new housemate. "As I recall, the Lady Greengrass was a ravenclaw in her day, was she not?"

Astoria looked impressed. "She was, yes. How did you know?"

Harry smiled. "I spoke with your father, after he helped me free my godfather from Azkaban, and the topic of a ravenclaw acting the slytherin came up."

Astoria nodded. "He enjoyed that meeting more than most, or so he said." She glanced back at her sister, who was still looking at them. She saw Tracy Davis leaning over, whispering to her friend. "I hope this didn't hurt her feelings."

"What, being sorted here?" asked Spellforged. _It might,_ he thought, seeing as how the sisters had been sorted together in the other worlds. His thoughts were interrupted again as a blonde girl was sorted into Ravenclaw. He had already written her name down in his book, since the other sortings were further along than his own.

"Daphne was hoping that I'd be in Slytherin," Astoria said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

"You can sit with her tomorrow, if you want." said the newest ravenclaw, Luna Lovegood. Spellforged looked up at her as she stood across the table. He had not noticed her approach. "Is this seat taken?"

Spellforged waved his hand to the empty seat across from him, an invitation. He saw her silvery eyes brighten slightly at the gesture, her soft smile widening. Her hair was tied back with a blue ribbon the exact color of Ravenclaw House, which surprised Spellforged. When a first year was sorted, their school robes took on the colors and crest of their new house - but that magic did not extend to accessories like hair bows or ribbons. Which meant that Luna had predicted her house, and gotten it right.

He wondered if the other Lunas had done the same. All five had been sorted into his house, after all.

"Welcome to Ravenclaw, Miss Lovegood."

Luna smiled again. "Thank you, Harry." This caught Hermione off guard, as she had expected a greeting like Astoria's. She looked from Luna to Harry, and saw that Harry was as surprised as she was.

After a moment, Spellforged nodded. "Not at all. This is my friend, Hermione Granger." He indicated Hermione, who found that Luna was already reaching over to shake hands. _She's going to be fun, I can already tell,_ thought Spellforged. There was a relaxed air to the blonde, a decided lack of intensity, almost a dreaminess - but he could already see the mind behind that exterior. Luna was observant and intuitive, and here her eyes gave her away - Spellforged saw her taking in the group, reading the table.

He had wanted to make new friends, after all. And it turned out that Luna Lovegood was easy to like.

As Hermione and Luna began discussing her unusual earrings, Spellforged looked back at Astoria, who still looked troubled. "Miss Lovegood is right, you know."

Astoria's face brightened at that. "Really?"

"Of course. You have to sit with your house during major feasts, like this one, but there's nothing that says that you have to sit here for every meal." He nodded toward the Slytherin table. "Or that your sister can't join you here."

Her face fell. "Draco wouldn't allow it."

Spellforged's face darkened at that. "Draco Malfoy is not the boss of your sister, Miss Greengrass."

"Someone should tell him that."

Spellforged chuckled at that, as he marked another sorting into his notebook. Quentin Robards had been sorted into Hufflepuff. "Maybe I will, Miss Greengrass. Maybe I will."

Her eyes grew wide. "Really?"

Spellforged looked at her. "If a slytherin thinks he can keep one of my housemates from having lunch with her sister, then yes I will have a talk with Heir Malfoy." He grinned, getting a smile from Astoria in turn - and one from Luna, who had started following the exchange when Hermione asked Anthony a question.

Astoria looked relieved. "Thank you," she said, quietly.

"Sullivan, Erik!" said Professor McGonagall. Spellforged's eyes snapped to his cousin. The boy walked confidently to the stool, a look of determination on his features. Then the hat obscured his face, and the waiting began.

It took seventy seconds to sort Erik into Ravenclaw. When Erik's eyes went to his new house, he saw his cousin Harry standing and applauding the loudest of any of them. Erik walked over and took the seat next to Luna.

"See?" Luna said, smiling brightly at him. "I told you we'd be wearing blue."

Erik laughed at that, and then laughed again at Spellforged's look of utter confusion. Erik glanced between his cousin and his new friend, and realized that he'd be seeing that look quite a bit as the year went on.

 _Spellforged has no idea what he was in for this year,_ thought Erik.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose watched Erik Sullivan walk over to the Ravenclaw table, as he had in each of the five worlds. She knew that Spellforged had worried about his cousin, even in the four worlds where he wasn't actually their cousin. It was another point that she was curious about - how much of the person that Erik Sullivan had become was due to the influence of one Harry Spellforged? By all accounts, Anna Sullivan was a good and honorable witch, smart enough to earn a highly sought-after position with Gringott's, and with it the trust of the Director. Her brother, Erik's father, held a mastery in Arithmancy, and helped the ICW identify unknown spells found at crime scenes and statute of secrecy breaches.

When she considered all of that, it seemed obvious that Erik would end up in Ravenclaw, even without Cousin Harry leading the way.

Hearing that a version of Astoria had followed in her mother's footsteps had been the bigger shock. That she fit into Ravenclaw, Rose had no doubt, for despite her sarcastic exterior Rose knew Astoria to be a quick study at almost any topic. Lady Greengrass had often had trouble keeping the girl interested during their many tutoring sessions.

She, too, wondered if Astoria might have let the presence of the boy-who-lived push her into Ravenclaw. That such a small factor could turn the tide simply meant that Astoria was well suited to either house - or that she was cunning enough to mask her true intentions even from the hat, sending a snake into the house of the eagles.

Or, she was overthinking it and should just let that Astoria live her best life.

"Weasley, Ginevra!" shouted the Deputy Headmistress, and the last remaining first year stepped forward. The girl was clearly nervous, her hands in the pockets of her as-yet undecorated school robes. Seeker and Chaser had already heard the girl get sorted into Gryffindor, followed shortly by Marigold. Here, she watched the girl under the hat, waiting for Spellforged to tell the group where the youngest Weasley had ended up.

After the second minute, Rose looked over at the Gryffindor table. Ron Weasley caught her glance, and the red-haired boy shrugged. He had no more idea what was going on than she did.

 _Nor do I,_ answered Spellforged, when asked what was happening. _She went to Gryffindor, but only after close to five minutes. She didn't look very happy, either._

Rose could see what had to be some sort of internal struggle between Ginny and the hat. The girl's frown was obvious, and its meaning was clear - whatever the hat was saying, she didn't like it.

After seven minutes, and a very worried staff table, Ginny Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor. As Professor McGonagall took the hat, Ginny stood up, her eyes fixed firmly on Rose.

 _What?_ thought Rose. Ginny had a look of regret on her face, balanced with no small measure of annoyance. Then she seemed to wilt, defeated. With a visible sigh, Ginny Weasley walked toward the lions.

 _I think Ginny Weasley wanted to be sorted into Slytherin._ Rose could not believe what she had seen from the girl, who not three weeks prior had been scared just to be in the same room as Rose.

 _Well, mine wanted to be in Ravenclaw._ Spellforged was just as puzzled. _One of our first years lives near her, and says that she has seemed withdrawn over the last few weeks._

 _Going to Hogwarts for the first time is quite a change, as we know,_ said Chaser. _Maybe she was just nervous?_

 _I don't know,_ replied Marigold. _She seemed off when I stayed at the Burrow. And part of why we were late is that she almost had a full-blown panic attack over some diary she left at home._

 _Why would Ginny Weasley want to be in my house?_ Rose wanted to know. _Whatever fantasy she had about the girl-who-lived would have been torn down by my sorting, according to her brother._

None of the five had an answer.

oOoOoOoOo

After the feast, Spellforged led Astoria Greengrass over to the Slytherin table, where a pair of second year girls were getting ready to head down to the dungeons.

"Heiress Greengrass, Miss Davis," said Spellforged, to get their attention. Daphne and Tracy turned to look at him. He watched their faces light up when they saw Astoria.

Spellforged did not get to say anything else. Astoria, once she saw the look on her sister's face, rushed forward and wrapped Daphne in a hug. Tracy laughed at the sight, and was promptly ignored by the Greengrasses.

"Miss Greengrass had said that she and her sister were close," Spellforged said to Tracy, as they watched. "I'm glad this will not divide them too badly."

Tracy looked over at the ravenclaw, considering his words. Her eyes went back to the sisters, and she could tell how relieved her friend was. The other houses rarely lowered themselves to the level of the snakes, and Daphne had been worried that her sister would end up the same way.

"Corrupting another one of my slytherins, Potter?" Spellforged looked to the head of the table and saw Draco Malfoy walking toward him, along with his friends Crabbe and Goyle.

"Heir Malfoy," Spellforged replied, careful to keep the required formality - and using that formality to highlight Malfoy's casual disregard for the protocols of the pureblooded society his father aspired to lead. "I merely escorted Miss Greengrass over to meet with her sister, the Heiress Greengrass. Surely you would not begrudge one of your housemates a few moments with her family?"

Draco sneered. "If her sister is enough of a blood traitor to get sorted into another house, then no, she doesn't need to be associating with us." He stepped forward. "And neither do you, scarhead."

Spellforged had not yet even spoken with Daphne Greengrass, though he thought he knew her well enough from her counterparts' interactions with Rose and Seeker. Truthfully, he had not come over here to cement any sort of arrangement or alliance with the Greengrasses - Astoria just missed her sister, and would need someone to lead her back up to Ravenclaw Tower afterward. But Draco's words were a challenge that he could not ignore.

"I will associate with whomever I wish, Heir Malfoy." He leaned forward slightly, a predatory grin stretching across his features. "As will my housemates."

Draco leaned forward as well, one hand in his robe pocket - likely on his wand. "Do you really think you can protect her?"

Spellforged channeled Rose for a moment - her arguments with her Draco about what Slytherin should be had been persuasive, though none of the others had as much of a stake in the issue as she did. "Has Slytherin fallen so far, that the great Draco Malfoy would be intimidated by a first year?"

Draco's pointed at Spellforged with his off hand, keeping his wand hand in his pocket. "If she wanted to honor her family, she would have gotten into Slytherin somehow. She stays away from us, or she gets hurt."

One look over Draco's shoulder, between the Malfoy scion and Vincent Crabbe, gave Spellforged reason to grin once more. "Again with the threats. So cunning, that you bring three snakes to challenge a first year girl."

"She would be no challenge." Draco said, scornfully. He glanced at a worried Astoria, still held by an enraged Daphne. "A few hexes and she would be begging to go home."

"And that will be twenty points each from Slytherin for threatening to harm another student, gentlemen," said Professor Flitwick, from behind the slytherin boys. Spellforged saw Crabbe and Goyle turn white in fear at the charms master's harsh tone, but his eyes never left Malfoy's. The anger he saw there almost drew out a laugh.

"And a detention with me, Mister Malfoy, for your deplorable conduct." That got Malfoy to turn around and face the professor.

"My father will hear of this." said Malfoy, coldly, as if the threat had any weight at all.

"Good," said Spellforged. "I wonder what Lord Malfoy will say when he learns of his heir's cowardice." Malfoy turned his reddening face back to Spellforged, who looked at him with what he hoped was pity. The laughter that threatened to erupt from him was helping nothing, at this point.

He continued. "If Slytherin ideals are so fragile, so weakened by time, that one of your housemates cannot have breakfast with her sister without being corrupted, as you say, then perhaps they are not worth having in the first place." Spellforged folded his arms, as if he were standing in judgement.

"You DARE?" Draco seemed to be contemplating an attack on the boy-who-lived, before Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. Draco's anger had not abated, however. "This isn't over, Potter."

Spellforged smiled. "Good."

Draco didn't know how to respond to that - usually, the people he threatened backed down. He looked at Professor Flitwick, who stood there with one hand pointing at the door. Without another word, he left the great hall as quickly as he could.

"Twenty points to Ravenclaw, Mister Spellforged, for defending a housemate." Flitwick said, relaxing. "Thank you for giving me some warning."

"Not at all, sir." He nodded at the Greengrasses, who were sitting at the end of the Slytherin table, talking quietly. Both were still a little shaken. "When last I checked, Mister Malfoy was not the arbiter of who could speak with who. I just wanted to make sure he was aware of that fact."

Flitwick nodded. "And well done, there." He saw the Greengrasses standing, and nodded to them. "Miss Greengrass, would you allow me to escort you to the tower? I believe your fellow first years are waiting on their head of house."

Astoria smiled at the professor. "Of course." She left her sister with a promise of a shared lunch the next day (at the Ravenclaw table), before following Professor Flitwick out of the great hall.

Spellforged turned to Daphne and Tracy, who were looking at him curiously. "That would be my cue to leave as well, I'm afraid."

Daphne nodded. "Thank you, Heir Potter, for what you did tonight."

Spellforged shrugged. "It was fun, honestly. I've been waiting for Mister Malfoy to screw up, and it turns out I didn't have to wait long." His smile faded, as he looked at the slytherins. "I hope this does not make life in the dungeons harder for you."

Daphne shook her head. "The prefects usually keep him in line. Of course, the prefects were not here tonight... "

"Be that as it may, please let me know if you have any issues. I know your sister will be doing the same." Spellforged gave them a deep bow, and grinned when they laughed at the exaggerated gesture. "Heiress Greengrass, Miss Davis. Good evening." He was rewarded with two curtseys, delivered with snickers at the silliness of it all.

oOoOoOoOo

As Spellforged left the hall, he found another housemate waiting. "That was well done, Harry," said Luna Lovegood.

Spellforged blinked at the familiar use of his name (again). It was not an insult, certainly, though some of the more rigid purebloods might take it as such. But it was unusual - which did not stop his grin at the compliment. "Thank you, Luna. I take it you saw the whole thing, then?"

She smiled at him, nodding. "It was a brilliant performance." She turned, and began to walk down the corridor. Shaking his head, Spellforged followed.

"Perhaps I just don't like bullies." He said, falling into step alongside his new housemate.

"I can tell," she responded. "Most Goblins don't tolerate them. Nor should they."

He gave her another look. "Not many witches or wizards understand that about us."

"No, I don't think they would. Too many wrackspurts, you see. They always get in the way." Luna started up the staircase, and Harry realized that she knew where she was going. "You have to get rid of them if you want to see clearly."

Not knowing what else to say, Spellforged simply nodded. "A worthy goal, it seems."

"Yes." At the next landing, Luna turned to the left. "Erik had a few on the train, but they went away when you met us in the entrance hall." She glanced over at him. "I know the other first years felt very welcome after having older students showing them kindness like that."

"That was part of the idea." He acknowledged.

"But you were worried about your cousin, too." He nodded. "Once he knew you were here, he relaxed. And so did you." She saw him nod again. "You're a good cousin, Harry Spellforged."

"I do what I can," said Spellforged, not knowing how else to respond. The pair turned a corner, and saw their head of house speaking quietly with Astoria Greengrass. When Flitwick saw them, he nodded and answered the riddle, opening the door to the Ravenclaw common room. Luna gave Harry a nod, before entering with Astoria.

Flitwick and Spellforged shared a look of amusement. Whatever else happened this year, both knew that it would never be dull.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Aaron Harper is adapted from a slytherin in this year named "Harper", who shows up in one of the later books - no particular significance there, it's just that we know so few names from Ginny and Luna's year that I had to drop one in.**

 **We have not spent much time with any of the Dracos other than Rose's, but the differences in his story are worth considering as well. First year, he left Spellforged alone, not wanting to appear intimidated by the kid who had permission to carry a knife (as Goblin obligations dictate). But now? Well, we'll see.**

 **I've put a lot of thought into Luna over the past few weeks - hopefully, that work pays off in her presentation here. Spellforged will not have his own Golden Trio, but he seems to have found himself in the middle of a silver something-or-other. That dynamic will be fun to watch as we go forward.**

 **Much of this chapter was written while travelling. So if you saw a chap tapping away on his phone on a Delta flight out of La Guardia, then you got to watch me write. Special thanks to the nice woman in Seat 11B, who consented to beta this when she would probably have preferred to sleep. But if she wanted a travel companion who would let her sleep, I guess she should not have married me.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	30. Chaser Drills

Chaser Potter did not think of himself as a violent person. But sunrise practice on a Saturday, well, it does things to a person.

Seeker had commiserated with his fellow player, as they jogged around the pitch, before Marigold joined the link and blearily asked them to shut up. Apparently, they did not have as much control over the link as they had thought.

Spellforged, who was jogging around the black lake just then, told them not to worry about it. When Chaser asked if he had finally joined the Ravenclaw team, he responded that no, he was just jogging because he had no training pits available to him. The shock that he would be up this early _voluntarily_ was enough to get Rose yelling at them, too.

Finally, just as the sun was beginning to rise, Chaser reached the official's bench, where Wood was already waiting for them. "Can I talk to you, Oliver?" asked Chaser.

"Sure, Harry," responded the Gryffindor captain. Closing his playbook, Wood pulled Harry aside.

Once out of earshot of the team, Harry began talking about something he had overheard in the hallways. Apparently, the story went, Lord Malfoy was not confident in his son's ability to make the team - so he went out and bought seven brand new Nimbus 2001's for the Slytherin team. It would surprise no one to learn that yes, Draco Malfoy had indeed been given the position of seeker. Had he tried out? No, of course not, no one else tried for the position.

Chaser hoped that the story was as true here as it was in Rose's world, where the Malfoy scion had strutted around the Slytherin common room, bragging to all who would listen. He had stopped when Rose threatened to fold his precious broomstick in half and shove his new Nimbus 1000 and a half straight up his robes. As Draco had stood there, sputtering, the quiet Blaise Zabini had speculated that his future wife would probably have to compete with his broomstick for affection.

That comment broke the ice, earning chuckles even from the upper years who would normally stay out of such a conversation. It also sent the newly minted seeker fleeing to his dorm.

Idly, Chaser wondered who would keep his own Draco Malfoy in check. He had little interest in the job, but no one else seemed willing to step up. Add to that the fact that, for whatever reason, the boy seemed cockier than ever this year, and you have a recipe for conflict.

Oliver Wood looked at his team, considering their brooms and skills. The only open position on Slytherin had been seeker, hampered as they were by a head of house that let them keep girls from trying out. Short of injury or expulsion (or, occasionally, graduation), no one quit the Slytherin team. So they would have veterans, alongside their shallow bench.

And faster brooms. But fast brooms were not always the best choice. Beaters, for example, needed to hold a precise position to set up the correct shot on the bludger - for they did no good if they could not hit the thing in the correct direction. Chasers needed some speed, yes, but they also needed to turn on a knut, at will. That sort of responsiveness was hard enough on a standard broom, and it was damn near impossible when going full out on a Nimbus.

Only the seeker would be able to make the best use of such a broom, but even then they would need an almost instinctual level of control. Either you had it, or you didn't. Alicia had an eye for the snitch, and the iron grip necessary to pull off a sloth roll while reaching for the tiny gold orb, but she was overcautious in her turns at speed. When she made seeker, her uncle in the US had given her a Quodpot broom called a Starsweeper XI, and it worked fairly well - a good blend of speed and control, ideal for the faster pace of Quodpot.

But if she had to race, flat out, against the new Nimbus? The edge went to the Nimbus.

Wood gathered the team, all of whom had now returned from their run. Getting out the playbook, he began adjusting their plays.

oOoOoOoOo

Chaser was ready for the Slytherin team, when the snakes tried to take over the pitch. He had kept an eye on the locker rooms, so that he could see them approach. Rose's warning had helped, as well.

Seeker had Ron, Hermione, and Neville with him, just in case things turned nasty. Chaser took the opposite approach, and had asked his friends to stay inside. Susan had put up a bit of an argument, at first, before Chaser pointed out (correctly) that she would have to tell her Aunt if she saw him throwing hexes at Malfoy. And then Amelia would eventually mention it to James. And then Chaser's life would be forfeit.

Lord Potter was a loving father, who had taught his son to live by the eleventh commandment - _Thou Shalt Not Get Caught_. A fight on the pitch, in full view of Madame Hooch and others, was not in the cards today.

As Chaser came in for a landing on the grass, he heard a clicking sound on his left. Colin Creevey was taking his picture, again. He resolved to ask the first year for a picture of the upcoming confrontation, and Malfoy's face.

Wood and the others saw the Slytherin team walk into the stadium just as Chaser landed, the first to greet the six older players. With amusement, he noticed that Malfoy had followed behind them - hoping to shock the lions with their new seeker.

Chaser would have none of it. "Flint, you seem to have misplaced your seeker," said Chaser. Wood and the Weasleys had arrived now, standing beside him - waiting for trouble.

"No we didn't, Potter." Marcus Flint replied, sneering as only a Slytherin could. "Professor Snape gave us the pitch to get our new seeker up to speed."

Wood started to protest, but kept quiet when he saw Chaser's grin. "Mister Flint, perhaps your team does things differently - but in Gryffindor, we actually bring our players to the pitch if we want them to train."

Flint stepped aside, revealing Draco Malfoy in his Quidditch gear. The boy lost his smirk when Chaser began giggling. Fred and George, reading the moment, laughed as well. When the girls started chuckling as well, Wood had no choice but to grin himself.

"Oi, Potter, what's so funny? Think I can't beat you?" Malfoy almost hissed his retort, such as it was.

"Merlin, no, Draco. The only way you could get on the Slytherin team is if your dad bought Nimbus 2001's for everyone." Chaser sighed. "I out flew you on a school broom last year, remember?"

Wood saw Flint look at Bletchley, the Slytherin keeper. Both looked angry. Chaser saw the look as well, and laughed out loud.

"He did, didn't he? He bought his way on the team?" The Slytherin beaters both looked down at the Nimbus 2001's in their hands, a thoughtful expression on their faces. "Ha! I can't believe it."

"I earned my spot, Potter!" Draco snarled.

"When did you have tryouts?" Chaser spat right back. Draco went pale. "How many tried out?" Now Draco looked at Flint, whose reddening face was quite the sight.

Chuckling to himself, Chaser turned to Wood. "I guess that answers my question. Come on Oliver, let's let the rookie have the pitch. He'll need to learn the game if we want him to make it a fair contest." He could tell that Oliver wanted to fight, but Harry met his eyes and shook his head.

Reluctantly, the Gryffindor team collected their water bottles and their gear and made their way to the locker rooms. As they walked past the Slytherin team, Chaser saw Flint and Bletchley arguing heatedly, as the remaining two chasers talked animatedly with an upset Draco Malfoy. Whatever they were saying, the second year didn't like it one bit.

"Mischief Managed," Chaser said to himself. He did not notice the sudden look he got from the twins, who heard his comment.

oOoOoOoOo

The following Monday saw a very annoyed Susan Bones sitting at the Gryffindor table at lunch. Chaser and Neville saw her as they entered the great hall, and shared a look. Neville chuckled, before gesturing toward the table. "She's all yours, mate."

"Right, thanks Heir Longbottom." Chaser said with a chuckle. "I will remember your courage when next our Alliance stands together." Neville's laugh was the only response, as the Longbottom Heir went to the Hufflepuff table and the seat next to Hannah Abbott.

Not wanting to be in arm's length of his friend, Harry sat across from her at the table. "Good afternoon, Susan." Her glare caused him to wince - this would not be good.

She slid a sheet of parchment over to him. "I'm going to kill that man." Chaser looked at it, seeing the DADA quiz Lockhart had given them on Thursday. Susan and her fellow 'Puffs had their DADA class on Monday, which meant that their first session had been that morning.

"It could be worse, Susan," said Chaser. "I mean, he does have a winning smile."

She pointed a quill at him, and for a second he wondered if she could still cast a stunner with it, such was her anger. "You listen to me, Harry, DADA is the most important class here, especially for a certain young heir who wants to become an auror some day." She turned to the staff table, and saw that Professor Lockhart was busily chatting up Professor Vector, the Arithmancy Professor. She looked back at Harry. "And this peacock is going to waste an entire year teaching us about HIMSELF!"

 _There's really no correct response to that,_ thought Chaser. But he tried anyway. "You and I have probably learned more from my dad and your aunt than anything he would be teaching us," Harry tapped the quiz. "Even if he were a proper teacher."

Susan huffed. "So every Monday, I get to waste a double period reenacting his books?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. But surely they would not have hired a total idiot as a professor, right?" Susan raised an eyebrow, and then nodded toward the quiz.

Before Chaser could respond, Hermione sat down at the table, book already open. It was one of Lockhart's works, though he could not tell which one. Really, they were interchangeable at this point, if he were honest. Chaser's eyes met Susan's for a moment, before the pair looked back at their friend.

"And a very good afternoon to you too, Hermione!" Said Chaser, brightly. Hermione looked up from her book, surprised.

"Oh, hi Harry, hi Susan." She closed the book, putting it back in her bag. "Sorry, I just wanted to be ready for our next defense class."

"You mean the one on Thursday?" asked Susan.

Hermione nodded. "Professor Lockhart has done so many things, it's hard to tell what story we'll hear next."

Susan huffed at that, but Chaser looked thoughtful. "Hermione, did you ever read the books they wrote about my life, when I was a kid?"

Hermione had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "My parents may have gotten some of them for me over the summer, yes."

Chaser smiled at her. "Great. Remember the time I fought off the Nundu in Kenya? The summer of by ninth birthday?" She nodded; that had been the first boy-who-lived book she had read. "Great, do you remember what it said for the dedication?" She shook her head.

"That's alright, I can quote it." He cleared his throat, getting a chuckle from Susan. "Quiet, you."

"Go on, then." said Susan.

"Fine. Whoever wrote the books dedicated them to their family or kids or whomever. But the series was "Dedicated to the victims of the Blood War - all of them, rich and poor, old and young, magical and not. Lest we forget." And then a portion of the profits went to the orphan wing at Saint Mungo's."

"That was very nice of you, Harry," remarked Hermione.

"Dad thought so - and so did his solicitor, when we had to sue the publishing house." He chuckled again. "See, some bright lad in an office decided to start putting out short stories about a young wizard's adventures in the world. And when I was hailed as the boy-who-lived, well - he knew he had his hero. The fifth book was already out before we learned of it."

"But, didn't they come out with more than five of them?" Hermione asked.

"Of course they did - but every copy, and reprints of the first few, now has a big old disclaimer. 'This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely accidental. None of what you are about to read _ever happened_.'" Harry spread his hands out in an exaggerated shrug. "Despite all that, including a letter to the Prophet from Lord Potter himself, some people still think I fought off a Beholder alongside the Norse Pantheon, or visited Atlantis with Newt Scamander, or whatever they came up with after that."

Hermione was lost in thought, so Susan decided to take the bait. "What does all this have to do with Lockhart, Harry?" She asked, a smirk on her face - she knew the answer.

"Professor Lockhart, Susan," said Hermione, automatically. She was watching Harry.

Chaser looked back at Hermione, and then tapped the quiz. "The books about my life were nonsense, but ultimately harmless. And rather than putting the writers out of work, we used them to raise money for charity. _Professor_ Lockhart, on the other hand, has done no such thing."

"You mean…" Hermione was shocked at the accusation.

"I do." Chaser looked at her evenly. "Look through his books. Some of the incidents he describes have known dates and places, documented in the Prophet. Maybe the Quibbler, if a creature was involved. But go over those dates and places, because I'll bet five galleons you find two of the good Professor's adventures that happened at the same time."

"That's not possible," said Hermione, looking less sure than she sounded.

"No," Chaser agreed. "It's not."

oOoOoOoOo

"Do you think she'll do it?"

Susan and Harry were walking toward the rear of the castle, where they would walk outdoors for the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff session of Herbology. They had left Hermione with the assurance that yes, Madam Pince had access to back issues of the Prophet.

Chaser shook his head. "I think she'll dive into what looks like a research project. But I can't tell if she is doing that to prove us wrong or to confirm what we think happened."

Susan chuckled at that. "Does it matter?"

"No, probably not." He eyed her, thoughtfully. "Though it might get interesting if a certain Head of the DMLE heard about some of the concerns Hogwarts students were raising about the appointment of Mister Lockhart."

"Oh, oh really?" said Susan.

"Yep," Harry replied.

"I did tell her I'd write her," Susan continued. "Maybe I'll mention it tonight." Then she realized that Chaser was not next to her anymore, and turned to see the gryffindor frozen in place. "Harry?" she asked.

He looked very pale. "Do you not hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what?" She walked back over to Harry, who was looking up and down the corridor. He could hear the movement, hear the hissed words.

 _Rip, tear, feast…_

Almost without thinking, Chaser summoned his mage sight using the incantation he had learned over the summer. Nothing was amiss in the hallway, nothing was there that should not be. The walls, in particular, were normal. He could still hear it, however, a soft scraping sound moving along the wall, along with the quiet words of something enormous. Something that was clearly hungry.

Chaser continued to look for the source of the noise. "That sound…" He looked at Susan. "There's something in the bloody walls."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **The response to this story continues to amaze me - over 200 Follows, 114 Favorites, 123 reviews.** **Thank you, to every one of you, for reading and enjoying this story. Even if I don't get a chance to respond directly to your review, know that your feedback is always appreciated. Don't forget to tell your friends.**

 **I posted a side story in July called _Inside Man_ , which was well received. I've since added a follow-up, called _The Prisoners' Tale,_ focusing on that version of Harry Potter and his, er, companion, as they try to rebuild their lives. Infrequent updates are planned, so no worries about taking time from this story to work on that one. Feel free to have a look, if you want an alternate take on the boy-who-lived. **

**Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	31. Blood on Stone

Draco Malfoy was still crowing about the newly ascendant Heir of Slytherin when Rose Potter entered the common room. She was followed by Professor Snape, who chose to remain near the doorway, unobserved. Even if some of the slytherins had been in a position to see him take his place in the dark corner, the sight of Rose Potter storming across the common room was enough to draw their attention.

There had been only one topic of conversation since the Halloween feast. Since the caretaker's stupid cat had been attacked. Since the Heir of Slytherin had threatened the school. Now, it seemed that the girl-who-lived was going to give them something else to discuss.

The Malfoy scion turned to see who had entered, just in time to catch the back of Rose's hand. With a resounding SLAP, Malfoy went to the ground.

Rose Potter stood over the boy, her right hand still outstretched, her wand in her left. She was breathing heavily, and the fury in her eyes was unmistakable.

"Get on your feet, you fucking coward. Get up and face your house." Draco stared at her, his face growing pale. The now silent common room almost shook when she shouted again. "NOW!"

oOoOoOoOo

That evening had begun in almost normal fashion - save for the fact that it was Halloween. The day had always been a sad one for Chaser, being the day when he and his father would visit the small memorial in Godric's Hollow. Now, hearing the five talk about remembering their parents - both of their parents - he realized just how different their lives had been.

Anna Sullivan had taken Spellforged to the memorial, as soon as he was old enough to ask her to do so. They had gone this year in mid-July, shortly before she left the country on business. Chaser was surprised at the gesture, but would not have been if he knew Anna Sullivan. (He found himself wondering, idly, if Dad knew her.)

No, what troubled Chaser this night was that three of his counterparts had never been to the graves of their parents. Until tonight, they had not known where that grave was. Obviously, last year they had been too busy to worry about the issue.

Chaser felt the urge to write home. At the Halloween feast, he was pleased to find that someone had asked the elves to give him hot chocolate. Before long, the rest of the gryffindors in his year, along with Colin Creevey, had raised mugs of their own.

It was, he thought, a fitting tribute to Lily Potter.

No one noticed that Ginny Weasley was missing from the feast until much later.

oOoOoOoOo

 _Kill…_ _Time to Kill…_

Marigold froze, causing Hermione and Ron to bump into her. "Oi, what?" asked Ron.

"Do you hear that?" She asked, getting nothing but blank looks from her friends. She had been acting oddly during the deathday party, but this was something else.

oOoOoOoOo

Seeker looked down the corridor, before walking briskly toward the nearest staircase. "It sounds like it's moving around above us." He began moving up the stairs to the second floor.

Neville struggled to keep up with Harry. Hermione and Ron followed closely behind him. "Harry, mate, slow down. What's moving around above us?"

Seeker ignored him. _There is a large creature moving through the walls, guys. Any ideas?_

oOoOoOoOo

Daphne Greengrass saw Rose tense up, just as the desserts were served in the great hall. "Rose, it's ok. It's just Halloween."

Rose smiled at her friend, and nodded. "I know. But it's kind of a bad date for me, you know?"

Daphne nodded. "I know." She said nothing further, despite the growing unease on Rose's face. If she wanted to talk about the anniversary of her parents' deaths, she knew that she could. _Perhaps I'll have Astoria pester her later, she's always good for a laugh._

Rose, meanwhile, was speaking with the link. _I can hear something distant, but I'd have to leave the great hall to get a better idea of what we're looking at._ She mentally huffed. _At least it's not a troll, if it's in the walls._

oOoOoOoOo

Marigold took in the scene before her, and could only respond in one way.

 **/Groznak./**

Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, was hanging from a torch basket in the center of the flooded hallway. The torchlight reflected off of the thin layer of water, seemingly coming from the old out-of-order bathroom.

It was the wall that held Marigold's attention. There, between two windows, was a message. _This is the message written on the wall,_ she sent to the link. " _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, Beware"_

"This is bad, guys." said Ron. He and Hermione had started to back away. Marigold flicked her wrist in a Goblin gesture, muttering the incantation for her mage sight. Mrs. Norris glowed with a sickly brown color, probably hinting at the magic that killed her. The torches, lit as they were by magic, had their own yellow light. But for the message, there was nothing.

 _The message is written in red, maybe blood or paint?_ She speculated, not wanting to get closer. _No magic. Whoever did it actually painted the words._

 _Marigold,_ began Chaser. _The feast is over, students are coming to you. Get out!_

Too late, she heard the crowd exiting the great hall.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose walked near the front of the group of slytherins, hoping to get a good look at what had happened. When they entered the great hall, the scene was just as Marigold had described. She tried to get a good look at the floor, but the students exiting the hall had already walked through the flooded area, tracking wet shoeprints all over the corridor.

The chatter of the students died down as they saw Mrs. Norris. While Filch was not well liked among the snakes, or indeed the students in general, a dead cat is a dead cat. The quiet was broken in short order, when Draco Malfoy pushed his way to the front of the group.

"Enemies of the Heir, Beware!" he laughed. "You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

A few of the slytherins chuckled at his words. A few of the first years from other houses gasped. Rose saw several begin to tear up, and she could not blame them. An older kid had just threatened them with death, like that cat, and not a single professor had questioned him.

Headmaster Dumbledore was examining Mrs. Norris, along with Professor Snape and Filch. Snape looked angry when Draco made his proclamation, but also said nothing - which angered Rose, for reasons she could not explain. Shortly, he told the prefects to take the students back to their common rooms. His tone brooked no debate, and his eyes had no twinkle this night.

As the slytherins began to make their way to the dungeons, Rose caught the elbow of Cassius Warrington, one of the fifth year prefects. "The rule is that we deal with problems internally, correct?"

Warrington looked at her. "Yes, that's the rule. Usually we would have a house meeting."

"Good." said Rose, her eyes intent on those of the prefect. "And how do I request a house meeting?"

Cassius looked at the departing Malfoy heir, and then back at the girl-who-lived. His father, a Malfoy ally, would urge caution. But his silver badge made his duty clear. Before he could come up with a response, a deep voice came from behind them and answered the question.

"You just did, Miss Potter." said Professor Snape. "Come along, both of you."

oOoOoOoOo

Erik Sullivan watched as Spellforged closed his eyes. The cool evening breeze had not yet grown chilly, which was fortunate for the pair - the nights were colder here on the Astronomy Tower.

Professor Sinistra had allowed Erik and Spellforged to spend the evening in the tower, lighting two candles for James and Lily. As the boys learned that night, Sinistra had been close friends with James, even attending a ball with him at one point. When Spellforged asked for permission to skip the Halloween Feast, in order to mourn his parents in his own way, she could do little else but approve the request.

The professor even had a house elf bring dinner up for the three of them. After sharing a few stories of James and Lily, the professor ate her meal at her desk, grading some of the NEWT parchments as she gave the boys their space.

Erik had grown up listening to stories about the Potters, mostly told by Foecleaver. His father and aunt had both graduated before James and Lily attended Hogwarts, though he thought they would have gotten along. Spellforged, meanwhile, had seen a whole different side of his parents from professors Flitwick and McGonagall, as well as the occasional visit to Hagrid's hut.

So, it was a natural thing to honor the Potters on the anniversary of their deaths. But the truth was that he didn't want Harry to spend the evening alone.

Spellforged had started to get an odd expression, Erik saw. Even with his eyes closed, his eyebrows raised in surprise, before lowering in anger. _Something clearly had him upset._

Erik had seen his cousin drop into a trance like this before, usually in the evenings. He said it was a sort of meditation, but sometimes it seemed like more - almost like he was having a conversation with himself. When Spellforged began muttering a string of Goblin curses, Erik knew that the topic would have to wait for another day.

"Mister Spellforged?" asked the Professor. She had heard the ravenclaw's words, and knew exactly what they meant. "Is everything alright?"

Spellforged was starting to stand up, one hand on the nearby railing for support. He let the blood flow back into his legs while he considered how to answer. "Professor, I think the feast will have ended about now. Perhaps we should head back down."

Erik said nothing. He knew something else was wrong, but would ask about it later. Now, he began to clean up the leavings from dinner.

Professor Sinistra, for her part, wondered why Spellforged suddenly wanted to head back - but, given the date, was not inclined to question the boy. "Of course, Mister Spellforged."

Harry bowed his head to the Professor. "Thank you again for this, Professor."

Sinistra paused at the stairs, looking back at Harry. Then she nodded. "Mister Spellforged, you are not the only one who mourns this night." And with that, the three began the long walk down to Ravenclaw tower.

Spellforged thought about what he had learned over the link. He had been too far away to hear anything, but what they described matched the voices he had heard earlier in the month. He had little else to contribute, unfortunately - a rarity, as the other four had taken to looking to him for leadership.

The only thing he could offer was a promise - that whoever the Heir was, he would deal with them.

oOoOoOoOo

"Get on your feet, you fucking coward. Get up and face your house." Draco stared at her, his face growing pale. The now silent common room almost shook when she shouted again. "NOW!"

"What the hell are you doing, Potter?" one of the seventh years asked, angrily.

"Miss Potter has asked for a house meeting," said Cassius Warrington. "A request that our head of house has granted." He walked to the center of the room, looking around. Normally, this would be the task of one of the seventh year prefects, but neither of them had been there - and Rose had not seen fit to wait for protocol.

Warrington raised his wand. Aiming it at the Slytherin crest over the fireplace, he cast a spell. " _Apartía._ " A bell sounded in the dorms, and three small glowing snakes appeared next to the crest. As the three stragglers came back down from the dorms, each of the snakes disappeared. When the crest glowed green, Warrington looked around the room.

"We are, all of us, gathered here, in our common room, as our traditions demand. There is no stranger, no guest among our number. We stand together, as one, to deal with a threat to our house." He gestured to Rose. "The Heiress Potter has requested this meeting. I yield the floor to her." With that, he stepped over to the fireplace, standing with the other prefects.

His eyes met those of Rose Potter, and he saw how angry she still was. He nodded to her. _I hope you know what you're doing,_ he thought.

Rose stood in the center of the common room, looking at the faces of her housemates. This was House Slytherin - for good or ill, her house. She was a second year, and they were standing there, listening to her. Some, likely, hoped that this would backfire spectacularly, harming her standing. Others were merely curious. The first years, she noticed, were worried - they sat on one of the couches near the prefects, alongside Daphne and Tracey, who had both been attempting to calm them.

Malfoy stood at the edge of the circle, near the remaining second years. Rose noticed that the other slytherins were giving that group a wide berth.

"Someone has attacked Slytherin House this night. They left accusations and threats painted in blood on the walls of the school, conjuring visions of the fabled Chamber of Secrets. They seek to bring up the spectre of Slytherin's Monster, in hopes of spreading fear. They murdered a cat to hammer home the threat." As she spoke, she turned, looking across the faces of her housemates. She felt like she was addressing the Wizengamot, such was the importance of this maneuver. And such was the risk.

"There is no cunning on display here, anyone can conjure paint or animal blood or whatever and write angry words on stone. And show me the ambition involved in threatening the students of other houses? The muggleborn, the half blood, the squib?" She turned again when she heard muttering. "Be honest, who mourns for the cat of a squib caretaker? But turn that question around - what threat to us, to the wizarding world, does a squib caretaker pose? Why attack him? Why hurt that man, of all the targets one might attack?" She shook her head, theatrically. "No, whoever did this is no Slytherin."

Draco Malfoy desperately wanted to shout at her, this upjumped blood traitor. Only Theodore Nott's firm hand on his shoulder stilled him.

"So we have that. And I imagine, in the days to come, we will learn who made these empty threats, and who tried to make our house look like base murderers and thugs." She ignored the muttering here, for some of these students were the sons and daughters of murderers and thugs, marked by the Dark Lord.

"But then, when no one quite knew what had happened, when no one had taken the THIRTY FUCKING SECONDS it took to figure out that no Slytherin would have done this - then we have the Heir Malfoy, opening his gob and turning an empty threat into a real one."

Malfoy stepped forward now, escaping Nott's grasp. "What are you talking about, Potter?"

Rose looked at Draco, square in the eye, and gave him her coldest sneer. "The school didn't know what was happening. And then you stand there and threaten the lives of every mudblood in earshot. These kids are standing next to a dead cat, and you laugh in their faces and tell them that they're next."

She pointed her right hand at the huddled group of first years. "And now, when some gryffindor gets it in his head that the snakes are going to make a move on one of his housemates, well, shouldn't he strike first?"

Rose stepped toward Draco. "Why not? There's a first year, she can't defend herself. If we hurt her bad enough, maybe the snakes will leave us alone." Another step. "There's a slytherin coming back late from the library, there's three of us and one of him, wands out boys!" Another step, and here Rose's voice dropped to a deadly quiet - but no one in the room missed a word. "Oh look, here's their ickle seeker, and his wand's in the locker room. No one's going to miss this kid, he's the one who wants to kill my friends. Get him!"

They were almost nose to nose, now. "Draco Malfoy, Heir of House Malfoy, with one statement, you painted a target on every member of your house."

Draco gave a sneer of his own. "So what?" He was surprised at the angry muttering his comment started - not realizing who the anger of his housemates was directed toward.

"So, with nine words, you risked the lives of these nine first years, at the very least. There's more, certainly, but that's enough, for now." She stepped back and took out her wand. "I ask House Slytherin to censure Draco Malfoy."

Gasps from the older students. No one had asked for such a thing in their time at Hogwarts, maybe not even during their parents' time. Usually, problems were sorted before it got that far. Rose Potter was not willing to wait for that, clearly.

Aaron Harper, a first year boy, spoke next. "What does that mean?"

It was Marcus Flint, the Quidditch Captain, who spoke. Everyone in the room could hear the rage in his voice - though, whether the anger was directed at Rose for calling the question, or at Draco for mouthing off, no one could tell.

"It means," said Flint, "That Draco would be unable to speak except when addressed by a professor, or during class. It means that he would be removed from any position of authority - so if he were a prefect, he would lose his badge." Flint's eyes went to Draco, who was almost shaking in rage. He did not say that it also meant finding a new seeker - he didn't need to. Draco knew, just from looking at his captain, how badly he had screwed up.

Miles Bletchley, the Quidditch Keeper and a Sixth Year Prefect, also knew what censure meant for the team. He stepped forward. "Miss Potter, would any other option satisfy you?" He looked her in the eyes, and she could tell that he was sincerely seeking some sort of middle ground. "Censure is not something considered lightly."

Rose considered that. "I would welcome alternatives. An apology in the Great Hall would be a good starting point."

"I'd be a laughing stock!" shouted Malfoy.

"What are you now?" asked a fifth year, in the back of the room. Some of the younger students snickered at that, only fueling Malfoy's rage.

"Draco, this is a problem you caused. It's a problem you need to solve." She considered him. "I would withdraw my request if you agree to go to the other houses and apologize to them personally." She stepped toward him again. "You will take two prefects and Professor Snape, or Professor Vector, if he is not available, as she is a Slytherin as well. You will apologize for any offense, tell them that your house required you to apologize, and pledge to do better in the future."

"That's humiliating!" He responded.

Rose gestured at their house. "Every time a snake gets hexed in the halls as a result of your mouth, Draco Malfoy, I will visit that hex back on you seven fold." She leaned forward, her hands behind her back. "Or you can take twenty minutes out of your life and go apologize for speaking without thinking, and do better next time."

Draco looked like he wanted to get his wand out then and there, such was his anger.

"For fuck's sake, Draco, take the loss. Apologize." Theo Nott had hissed his words in an attempt at a whisper, but everyone heard. Looking around the room, the number of students nodding in agreement with Theo hammered home to Draco just how bad his situation was.

"Fine, I'll apologize." he spat the words at Rose, as if promising that this wasn't over.

Rose ignored it - she knew this wasn't over. Instead, she turned to the doorway, where Professor Snape nodded to her in approval. "Mister Warrington, I withdraw my request. If and when Heir Malfoy apologizes as he has promised, I will be satisfied."

"If there are no objections?" The house stood mute, and Warrington relaxed a bit. "Then the request is withdrawn, the meeting is over, and we can go to bed now." The tension that had built up in the room left, just as the Slytherin crest lost its glow.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose Potter suddenly found herself exhausted, mentally and physically. Without a word, she made her way to the second year girls' rooms. She was already in her bedclothes when Daphne and Tracey walked in.

"That was brilliant, Rose." said Daphne, and Rose knew that those four words carried enormous weight - the Greengrass heiress could probably have given her a lengthy critique of her performance, from mannerisms to pacing to word choice. That she was impressed meant high praise, indeed.

Rose was not feeling praised, however. Tiredly, she sat at the edge of her bed, Daphne and Tracey doing the same on Daphne's bed, the next one over.

"I just wanted a normal year," she said quietly. "I just wanted to screw around and relax and maybe figure out where my life is going, what electives I want, you know - second year nonsense."

"And, yet," said Tracey.

"And, yet, there's a creature in the walls killing cats, and someone manipulating the situation to threaten us, and this blonde git pissing on everything Slytherin he can get in range of." Rose shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder if it would have been easier if I let the hat put me in Gryffindor."

Daphne and Tracey shared a look of horror at the thought.

"I just, I can't deal with a year of this rubbish, you know?" Rose wiped a hand down her face, finding moisture she hadn't known was there. "I can't even."

Daphne and Tracey crossed over to Rose's bed, where hugs were exchanged. For once, Rose did not flinch at the contact. It was, as it turned out, just what she needed.

 ** _A/N:_** **Welcome to NaNoWriMo. Though this is cheating, as it was in beta before the month flipped over.**

 **Re-reading the canon, I couldn't help but picture Rose's blinding rage at Draco's flippant death threat, delivered with a laugh while professors labor over what seems to be a dead body. Rose was already on edge due to the date, and the fact that Seeker and Marigold got caught at the scene and might be in trouble. So when Draco mouthed off, Rose had a fucking gutful, and showed it tonight.**

 **"Apartía" is Greek for "Quorum", a logical spell for calling a meeting such as the one shown here. Surely, each house has its own rules and traditions, none more than Slytherin.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	32. Interlude - Enemies of the Heir

Septima Vector took the seat offered by the Headmaster, sitting down with a weary sigh. She had known it would be a long night, just with the Halloween feast alone. No one had planned for the attack on Mrs. Norris, however - nor did anyone anticipate the aftermath.

As always, Rose Potter seemed to defy all expectations.

Severus Snape sat on a high stool, in the corner of the Headmaster's office, as was his habit. His expression showed the same fatigue that hers did, though he hid it well.

"Septima, my dear, how did it go?"

Professor Vector considered that. "Albus, I will be honest - I don't know." Off the Headmaster's questioning look, she continued. "Whatever was said in the common room, it seems to have scared the life out of Mister Malfoy. He was not the brash blood purist that we saw earlier tonight."

"How so?"

She shook her head. "I can't explain it, really - the subject of blood purity never came up, not once. I led Draco and the 6th year prefects to Hufflepuff, and then Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Each time, he asked for an audience, using the correct language." She looked over at Snape. "I presume Mister Nott coached him on the finer points?"

Snape nodded. "I asked him to aid Mister Malfoy, while we awaited your presence."

"Well, it worked." She sat back. "The Draco Malfoy who begged forgiveness from the badgers was not the same one who threatened them earlier tonight. The fact that the Hufflepuffs voted, then and there, to accept the apology, well, that seemed to calm him down a little."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "How did he do at Gryffindor?"

"There, it was rougher," she replied. "Minerva almost did not let him in, saying that he would do the same if she had threatened the lives of his housemates."

"She may have been doing that for show, Septima." said Snape. "To hammer home the lesson."

A nod - she had considered that as well. "When we entered their common room, the house was assembled - and utterly silent." She looked down, thinking over her visit with the lions. "Albus, I have never seen Gryffindor as united as it was in that moment. They had moved a couch to the center of the room, and all of their first years were seated. The rest of the house stood - wands out."

That concerned the Headmaster. "Was there trouble?"

"None," said Septima, shaking her head. "But when he began his apology, Oliver Wood stopped him. He pointed at the first years, all of whom were upset, and told Draco to apologize to them first."

"I imagine that shook him." said Snape.

"It did," confirmed Vector. "I think that gesture really hammered the point home for Draco - he was not apologizing to the 'mudbloods', he was apologizing to a bunch of kids that he threatened with death."

Albus sighed. "And Ravenclaw, Septima?"

Another thoughtful look. "Honestly, I don't know. They were polite as he spoke, of course - Filius would demand nothing less. But at the end, when Draco promised to do better, one of the first years scoffed and muttered a phrase I didn't catch."

"In the hallway, I sent the prefects back to Slytherin, along with Mister Malfoy, while I stayed behind to ask about it." She smiled to herself, shaking her head. "Albus, what do you know about Erik Sullivan?"

Dumbledore frowned. "He seems to have been well-sorted, if his marks are any indication. His mother died of an illness when the boy was young and his father consults with the ICW. I believe he has an aunt who works for Gringott's." He smiled at the Arithmancy professor. "Actually, his father holds an Arithmancy mastery, and researches unknown spells."

"Paul Sullivan?" Albus nodded, getting a nod from Vector as well. "I've read his work. No wonder his son is in Ravenclaw."

"Why do you ask?" said Snape.

"Because, Severus, when Draco Malfoy ended his formal apology with a promise that he would do better in the future, Erik Sullivan stood up and barked a phrase in the Goblin tongue. Filius told me that the boy said **/Klactika Kiin/**."

Snape looked confused. "And that means?"

Albus sat back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Prove it." The professors looked at him, and their faces begged for more of an explanation. "Consider the Goblin Nation, Severus. When a Goblin makes a promise, their laws and custom treat it as an oath. So a demand that Draco prove his intentions is basically a statement that his words have no value."

The Headmaster sighed heavily, the late hour suddenly taking its toll. "I am afraid, Severus, Septima, that this incident will not be forgotten easily."

"Good," Snape replied.

"Good?" asked Septima. "This will divide the house, Severus. That never goes well."

"I think not, Septima. We had the girl-who-lived walk into the common room and argue the son of Lucius Malfoy into accepting humiliation. And the entire house allowed it to happen, with most of the members even supporting it." He looked from the arithmancy professor to his Headmaster. "And she did it in defense of the first years. Four purebloods and five half bloods, all of them frightened of the other houses' reaction."

"I don't understand." She said.

"It's simple, Septima. Draco spoke as his father taught him, and his entire house slapped him down for it." He allowed a sneer to cross his features. "If my godson is lucky, that hard-earned lesson will stick with him the rest of his life."

 _And not a moment too soon,_ thought Snape.

oOoOoOoOo

Despite the late hour, Director Ragnok knew he would find one goblin, at least, still hard at work. It was not dedication to the job, necessarily, that kept Felwrath at his desk that night, or any night for that matter. No, the old Goblin just slept during the daytime. Since he had no real clients, his lack of availability hurt nothing - and his seniority and age both meant that no one would question him on the matter.

 _Though that may change,_ thought Ragnok, _if this is going where it might_. Harry Spellforged had given him much to think about.

Arriving at the old goblin's office, Ragnok rapped a hand against the door. "Come," was the slow reply. Cautiously, the Director opened the old oaken door, and beheld chaos.

Ragnok's own office was immaculate, kept that way by a staff of several goblins - for no one knew when a clan leader or dignitary or ministry representative might wish to meet on some matter or other. Most goblins kept their offices relatively tidy. Even Foecleaver, whose clients usually took a more relaxed view of such things, worked hard to keep his files and papers organized.

Felwrath had no time for such frivolities. His office was filled to overflowing with cabinets, boxes, and stacks of books and ledgers and paper. And it was worse, when Ragnok looked around, for each of those boxes and cabinets was probably magically expanded. The only saving grace that he could see was the circle in the center of the room, ringing a small pedestal. The thick tome there could only be an index, making the rest of the mess searchable - if only just.

The desk at the end of the room matched the rest of the office - for it, too, was stacked high with paper. As if it were the gap between mountains, the center of the desk was stacked low enough to allow a view of the office's sole occupant. As Ragnok walked into the room, careful not to knock anything over, the old goblin stood.

"Welcome, My Lord Director, to the Dead Lines Office of Gringott's, London." said Felwrath's raspy voice. "How may I serve Gringott's today, My Lord?"

Ragnok gestured for him to sit down, taking his own seat across the desk - after first moving a stack of files to the floor. Felwrath saw the gesture and chuckled, before waving his hand. As Ragnok watched, the tall stacks of paper rose into the air. Scattering, the paperwork flew across the room, sliding into now opened drawers and filing boxes. Before he knew it, the goblin's desk was clear.

That got a laugh from the Director. "Felwrath, if you can do that at will, what in the hell keeps your office looking like an archive?"

"My Lord Director," responded Felwrath, as if insulted. "I have a system, sir. It would be bad form to change that system simply because some young upstart wants me to have a clean office." He waved a hand at the room, and at the files littering it. "Besides, this is not an office, as such, My Lord. This is a mausoleum, where extinct lines go when they finally die out."

"Maybe, maybe not." Ragnok leaned back in his chair. "What I will say to you must be kept in confidence, yes?"

If the request fazed the old goblin, Felwrath did not show it. "Of course, Director."

Ragnok nodded. "What do you know of the line of Salazar Slytherin?"

That name alone was enough to surprise Felwrath. Then, he was all business. "House Slytherin had very specific rules for any who would take up the Lord's ring. Even in the familial line, the head of house must be a parselmouth. Once that is proven, they must be accepted as leader of their house, before they then survive a trial of some sort. The nature of the trial is unclear, but such challenges usually involve combat."

"And who is the current heir?" Ragnok asked.

Felwrath looked at him, eyes narrowed. "My Lord, there is no Heir Apparent to the Lordship of House Slytherin. The last potential heir was one Tom Marvolo Riddle, who died on 31 October 1981."

 _Odd coincidence, that date,_ thought Ragnok.

"The line ran through House Gaunt until the death of Merope Gaunt, the last daughter of the house. Riddle was her son." Felwrath raised his hand, and a parchment came sailing across the room. When it landed on his desk, he examined it. His grunt of surprise got Ragnok's attention.

"What else can you tell me?" asked the Director.

Felwrath tapped the parchment. "The Slytherin vault has sat dormant for close to two centuries, merely accruing interest over that time. Apart from some artifacts and one property, the family has no business interests or investments or other entanglements. When the line became dormant, the vault went into stasis." He looked up at the Director. "When a family is fully ended, with no potential for another heir to take up the Lord's ring, the contents of their vault are transferred to the closest relation, usually a distant cousin or cadet line. Sometimes, if no relations exist to the twenty-first generation, the contents are sold at auction. Occasionally, debts exist and the Nation takes possession."

"Something tells me that this never happened here."

"No, My Lord. On the death of the last heir, the vault went into stasis. Our curse breakers suggest that the vault's magic is awaiting a new heir."

Ragnok stood, and began pacing. "Enemies of the heir, beware," he muttered.

"Surely, you did not come down here at this hour to discuss an extinct house, My Lord." said Felwrath, with a smile.

Turning to the old goblin, Ragnok let out a tired sigh. "My son tells me that there was an attack at Hogwarts tonight."

"He is well, I presume?" Felwrath asked, before Ragnok could continue.

"Yes, he was in another part of the castle. But the caretaker's cat was petrified by some unknown means." Ragnok looked at a stack of files, keeping his voice even. "Whoever caused this attack claimed that the fabled Chamber of Secrets had been opened. Then they wrote, in blood, 'Enemies of the Heir, Beware.'"

Felwrath looked at the parchment before him, and then at the Director. "Historical records do suggest that a Chamber was added to the castle shortly before Slytherin's Flight. It may not be as fabled as we think."

"Perhaps." he turned back to Felwrath. "But if the legend is true, and there is a monster loose in the school…"

Now it became clear. "You hoped to learn who the heir might be, so that they can prevent the next attack?"

Ragnok nodded. "Or, if they are the ones doing the attacking, knowing their identity would allow me to… encourage them to stop."

Felwrath sighed, sitting back. "I wish I could help you, Director." He tapped the parchment once more, wordlessly duplicating it. "Magic believes that there may be a potential heir, but offers no clue as to that person's identity. Had Riddle been able to claim the ring, we might have traced the magic through his own, but there is no record that he even made a proper claim." He inclined his head, thinking the question through. "It is also possible that Riddle did no deeds worthy of the Slytherin name, or that he was never accepted as a leader among the Slytherins at Hogwarts."

"Why would his time at school matter?" Ragnok asked.

"Because there is no House of Slytherin to grant acceptance to a prospective heir. Acceptance within Slytherin House at Hogwarts would be the closest thing. And if these reports are correct, Magic itself might accept it as such." He slid the copy of the summary to Ragnok.

Ragnok considered the dilemma. "If what you are telling me is true," he began.

"And it is, My Lord." Felwrath said.

"Then whoever is claiming to be the heir is lying." Ragnok continued, ignoring the interruption. "But to what end?"

"That, My Lord, I do not know." Felwrath waved his hand again, and the Slytherin file returned to its place. "If I may be so bold, Director…. Tell your son to be vigilant."

"Always," replied Ragnok. He walked back to the desk. "Thank you, Felwrath."

The old goblin bowed. "My Lord."

 _Harry's going to hate this,_ Ragnok thought.

oOoOoOoOo

 _ **You are up late, Ginevra.**_

 _I know, Tom. We had a house meeting about the attack earlier._

 _ **Oh? That's very interesting. What happened at the meeting?**_

 _Professor Vector brought in a boy from Slytherin named Draco Malfoy. He had told the mudbloods that they would all be killed now that the Chamber of Secrets is opened._

 _ **Malfoy? I knew an Abraxas Malfoy when I was at Hogwarts.**_

 _I don't know, maybe they are related? Draco is a blonde boy, a second year._

 _ **A grandson, perhaps. What did young Malfoy say?**_

 _He said that Slytherin had voted to make him apologize, because what he said was not what he meant, and he didn't want us to be killed by anybody, and he was sorry if he made us feel unsafe._

 _ **How humiliating for the boy.**_

 _He looked pretty sad - but Ron figured he was upset because they got him in trouble, not because of what he said._

 _ **Your brother sounds very wise.**_

 _Ha - You've never met him, Tom._

 _ **Indeed.**_

 _ **If Slytherin House made a pureblood scion go around and apologize for speaking the truth, perhaps it's better that you did not get sorted there after all.**_

 _Maybe. I tried and tried, but the hat wouldn't do it. It said I was brave to even ask - which made me a lion._

 _ **So you said, my dear. I told you, I'm not angry.**_

 _I know. You're the best, Tom._

 _ **Far from it, I'm afraid. But it is as I said it - you will be a powerful witch in any house, Ginevra. Just like your hero, Rose Potter.**_

 _Just like Rose Potter._

 _ **Now get some rest, my dear. The next few weeks will be quite busy.**_

 _Alright. Good Night, Tom._

 _ **Pleasant Dreams, Miss Weasley.**_


	33. Moving Targets

Spellforged watched as Hermione taught Luna a simple warming charm. The air was chillier than he had expected, but then again it was Mid-November in Scotland. Being up in the Quidditch stands didn't help matters, nor did the darkening clouds overhead.

The warming charms actually did help, of course - just not enough to make him truly comfortable.

Erik and Astoria had walked ahead with some of the other first years, six of whom now sat in the front row under a large, blue blanket. Ravenclaw had no rooting interest in the Gryffindor/Slytherin season opening match, but house pride was important nonetheless. He did notice Astoria wearing a green scarf, likely from her sister.

A subtle feeling of warmth passed across Spellforged's shoulders, and he looked over to see Hermione casting another warming charm on his cloak.

"Thank you," he said.

"Not at all," she replied. "You seemed uncomfortable."

"He was," said Luna with a smile. "He did grow up in a warm cave, after all."

Harry looked at Hermione, before both of them started snickering at the comment. Luna just grinned.

oOoOoOoOo

Chaser adjusted the straps on his goggles, thankful that he had thought to spell them against rain. If the clouds were any indication, that would come in handy.

He had seen an obviously nervous Draco Malfoy on the path from the locker rooms, though Draco didn't see him. _Probably better that way,_ he thought. Draco had not thought to wear goggles or headgear at all, which gave Harry an advantage - the worse the rain got, the easier it would be to outfly the slytherin. Maintaining visibility in those conditions could make or break the game, since you can't hit the goal if you can't see it.

The rest of the Gryffindor team was assembled when he arrived. Oliver Wood wanted a quick game, given the weather, but he would take a win any way he could get it. They had worked on matchups versus faster brooms, using Harry's Nimbus 2000 as a stand-in for the faster 2001's. It had helped - the lions were confident, and felt well-prepared.

It was their game to lose.

oOoOoOoOo

 _Catch the snitch or die trying,_ thought Seeker. _Let me think about that one._

Chaser's suggestion of enchanted goggles was a good one - already the charmed eyewear was helping him see in the darkening afternoon. If it did rain, he'd be well protected. He knew how hard it would be to catch the snitch under normal conditions; he was not looking forward to trying in the rain.

Seeker's Wood gave almost the same speech, though here he was a little more nervous - they had not spent as much time preparing for the 2001's they'd be facing. Seeker was not worried, though - he had watched the Slytherin team in practice a week ago, and they were having trouble working as a cohesive whole.

That, too, might be a deciding factor, for the Gryffindor team was a well-drilled unit.

oOoOoOoOo

Marigold had not really wanted to watch the match today. Of all the things on her mind, who won the match was very low on the list. Having two players in her head didn't help matters, as they would probably end up giving her a play-by-play if they let their thoughts filter into the link. Sitting in the stands, watching the match, gave her a better shot at tuning them out.

It hadn't really happened, yet, except during Quirrelmort's attacks on Chaser and Seeker last year. But those had been during different matches, and so the two did not end up confusing each other. She and Rose had it lucky, in a way - there was no possibility that she would confuse one of her 'brothers' with her own internal monologue.

Lee Jordan started introductions, as the teams flew out onto the pitch for warm ups.

oOoOoOoOo

 _Draco Malfoy looks a little bit tentative,_ Rose thought.

It could easily be dismissed as nerves before his first game, of course. Or pressure from teammates, who had been upset when they realized that Malfoy buying his way onto their team might not be the benefit they thought it would be. At least one player, surely, had gone along with it in hopes of currying favor with Lord Malfoy, for them or their parents. With the house meeting, though, the calculation may have changed, and the players didn't like that one bit.

It was an odd time to be a Slytherin. No one quite knew when another shoe would drop.

Rose had almost skipped the game entirely, telling Daphne that she was tired of being on display, tired of the games. Of all people, it had been Theodore Nott, Draco's roommate, who had set her straight that morning.

"Rose," he had said. "If you don't go to the match, it will look like you realized how badly you overreached with that meeting." Before she could respond he held up a hand. "I'm not saying you did, I'm not saying you didn't. I'm saying that it will look like you regret it." He looked at her, intently. "The house supported you. So, you need to be seen to support the house."

And with that, he had walked off. The quiet boy had rarely spoken with her, but was not one of Draco's close mates, either - they ended up roommates by default, when Crabbe and Goyle took the first two-person dorm. Malfoy and Nott came next, granting Blaise Zabini the single room.

Most expected Blaise and Draco to swap after first year, but the boys had been fine with the arrangement - unlike the girls, where Daphne had spent the first half of the first year rooming with Pansy Parkinson. Rose, who did not particularly enjoy having a single room, had figured that Tracey would swap with Pansy, but when she ended up getting along with Millicent Bulstrode, it became Rose who gave Pansy the single room.

All of which is to say that Theodore Nott remained a bit of an enigma. But he was well-liked among the older slytherins, and his advice made sense. So here she was, sitting underneath a green blanket with Tracey and Daphne, half-heartedly cheering for a seeker she openly despised. _Oh, cruel fate,_ she mused.

 _Quiet, you,_ came Marigold's voice over the link. _Ten galleons we win._

Rose chuckled, getting a look from Daphne. _I'd bet you, but you'd never pay up._

oOoOoOoOo

Hermione looked over at Marigold. "What's so funny?"

Marigold shook her head, pointing at Lee Jordan in an attempt at covering her reaction. The boy had already been scolded by Professor McGonagall for his descriptions of the Slytherin team, especially their new seeker. "Lee is in good form this year," she said.

Hermione shrugged. "He'd better be careful, though, or they'll get someone else."

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the game was on. The players dispersed across the field, and the Slytherin chasers were already putting in an attempt on Oliver Wood. Meanwhile, Draco and Alicia were flying high above the pitch, waiting for the snitch to appear.

oOoOoOoOo

"Alright there, Scarhead?" shouted Draco Malfoy, as he flew past Seeker. Before he could respond, a bludger came straight at him, forcing Seeker to roll his broom. The bludger should have flown straight up for a ways, before gravity slowed it - but instead, Seeker watched in horror as it stopped dead in mid air.

 _Oh, Merlin._

Seeker banked down and to the left, allowing the bludger to pass harmlessly by. George Weasley caught it with his bat, sending it toward Draco - only to see it change direction in mid air once more.

"We've got a rogue bludger!" He shouted.

oOoOoOoOo

Chaser avoided the bludger with a sloth grip roll, dodging for what had to be the third time. And as before, the thing changed direction in mid air. Again it whizzed toward Harry Potter.

"Keep going!" he shouted to Angelina Johnson. "I'm going to let it chase me, maybe break up their seeker's route. Give Alicia a better shot."

"We'll be a chaser short!" his teammate argued.

"Yeah, but the twins can handle one bludger easily - I'll have the other one. Go!" He gathered his speed, seeing the bludger coming at him again. His Nimbus could outrun a full-speed bludger, but only just. He'd have to get creative.

 _Not to alarm anyone,_ he sent to the link, _but I've got a bludger chasing after me._

oOoOoOoOo

 _Me, too_ , Rose heard Seeker's voice in her mind, and could tell that he was agitated. A rogue bludger could do that.

 _Bludgers do go bad, occasionally._ She thought.

 _Yeah, but why both mine and Chaser's?_ Asked Seeker. _And even then, the bludger would chase the position, not the player. So if his bludger is not chasing his seeker, then it's chasing him. SHIT!_ Rose pictured him making another tight escape.

"If it's not chasing the position, it's chasing the player…" she muttered to herself. _What is going on?_

oOoOoOoOo

Marigold heard the chatter on the link, and started tracking the bludgers in her game. Both seemed ordinary, to her unschooled eyes. She watched as one of the twins sent a bludger toward Flint, who barely dodged - but missed what would have been an easy catch in the process, sending the quaffle into the air.

 _What if it's chasing the player?_ Asked Marigold, idly. She wasn't sure quite what she meant, exactly, but the thought was forming. On a whim, she muttered the incantation for mage sight.

Quite a few of her fellow lions had a soft, green glow - probably warming charms, she realized. Her own cloak had the same, thanks to Hermione. The brooms were a bright orange, as was the quaffle. She could not see the snitch, but now realized why mage sight was banned in quidditch play - if you could make the snitch light up by tracking its magic, then you could catch it easily.

Bludgers were easy to see as well. A glowing orange orb flew past the Slytherin keeper, narrowly missing his shoulder. Now if she could only find the other one….

Across the pitch, near the Slytherin stands, a purple bludger stopped in mid air.

 _It's not tracking the players,_ thought Marigold, as she stood. _It's tracking us!_

oOoOoOoOo

Luna saw the change in Spellforged's demeanor before he did, and began looking around. The game seemed to be progressing normally. _Though the commentary could use some work_ , she thought.

Spellforged stood, his eyes fixed on the pitch. She saw his hand twist in a goblin gesture, and wondered what spell he had just cast. Then she heard his muttered curse, and decided he had used mage sight. Which meant….

"Harry, what's the matter?" she asked.

The Ravenclaw stands were maybe half full - the weather had scared some of their housemates away, with studying being the second leading cause of missed Quidditch. Spellforged had plenty of room.

"Luna," he said. "I want you to go sit with Hermione."

Hermione looked over at the sound of her name, and saw Luna hopping over the benches to sit next to her. Spellforged was now on his own in the back row of the box.

"What's going on?" asked Hermione. Luna smiled and put a hand on her shoulder.

"It's alright, Hermione, Harry's just having a panic attack. The Wrackspurts are swarming around him." _And through him,_ she thought, wondering how that worked, exactly.

Spellforged, for his part, watched the purple bludger. It had not acted out of the ordinary - yet. Then he saw it stop in mid air, and sighed.

oOoOoOoOo

"Colin!" Marigold shouted. The first year whipped his head around, surprised that she had called his name.

"Yeah, Marigold?" he asked.

"Go get Professor McGonagall. They need to stop the match."

Colin's eyes grew wide, but he listened to her and went down the stairs to the walkway. Anyone else, he would have questioned. But not the girl-who-lived.

The purple bludger had made it halfway across the pitch, before a beater got to it. She hadn't even seen who, if she were honest. Again, it was knocked toward a goal, and again it changed direction in midair.

Then it shot toward her.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose stood up from her seat. The Slytherin stands were closer to full, but still had several empty rows available. She stepped back, climbing to the next row up.

"Rose, what are you doing?" asked Daphne. Getting a better view wasn't unusual, depending on the match, but Rose didn't care about the game. So what was she doing?

"Daphne, in a few moments, a bludger is going to come after me. I'm going to try to dodge, but I'm going to need you to get me to Madam Pomfrey if I don't."

"What?!"

"It'll be fine. I need you to send someone to get Snape. He's going to want to halt the match." Rose saw the bludger get batted back into play - and dared not take her eyes off of it.

At the back of her mind, she started planning the wonderful things she would do to Dobby when she got her hands on the house elf.

oOoOoOoOo

Spellforged watched the Gryffindor team score a goal with a complicated play involving all three of their chasers. It was a brilliant score, but it also cleared the middle of the pitch. The bludger, still glowing purple with house elf magic, shot straight for the Ravenclaw stands.

Some of the older students caught sight of it, and rose. It was aimed above their heads, however, at the second year in the top row.

As the bludger passed the railing, Spellforged dove down between the benches. He had guessed correctly - the bludger couldn't make that sort of stop. Splinters flew as it blasted through the back railing as if it were paper. Another blast, further down the railing, signalled the bludger's return trip through the stands. Before it could strike, however, Spellforged heard a whistle.

All balls froze, as they were designed to do.

Cautiously, mindful of the bludger floating over him, Spellforged stood. By this point, Professor Flitwick had arrived, his wand out and scanning. He detected the elf magic, but could not identify a source. _That's alright,_ thought Spellforged. _I know who did this._

oOoOoOoOo

At the back of her mind, Marigold could hear Chaser and Seeker avoiding their bludgers. She was more worried about her own, however.

Hers had shot past in a high arc, before dropping out of the sky like a meteor. It had punched a neat hole in the seat she had vacated, causing Ron and Hermione to back away frantically. Instead of coming back up, however, it shot through the Gryffindor banner on the front edge of the stands.

The purple bludger hovered in front of the Gryffindor stands, as if it were gloating that it had found her so easily. It came forward ten feet before the whistle stopped it dead.

oOoOoOoOo

Snape was waving his wand around the bludger, still floating where it had been when the whistle blew. Rose was talking with Daphne and Tracey, with Astoria standing nearby, a worried look on her face.

"I have no idea, guys. Could it be someone angry with me over Halloween? Maybe." Rose shrugged. "I can't control that."

"Yeah, but you called out Malfoy over words, how angry do they think you'd be over something like this?" asked Tracey.

 _A good point,_ she thought. A cheer came over the link from Seeker, coupled with a sharp pain in her arm. _That can't be good._

 _Screwed up my arm,_ replied Seeker. _But got the damn snitch. And the bludgers stop when the game ends._

oOoOoOoOo

 _Good for you,_ thought Chaser. _But I can't exactly end the game, can I?_

He almost felt like he was running a seeker drill, or playing chase-and-catch with his father. Instead of flying his patterns and working plays with the other chasers, he was reduced to looping overhead. He could not even spot the snitch for the seeker, since she was at this moment flying low.

Chaser had, so far, been able to outpace the rogue bludger. But every time he turned, every time he changed course, the bludger simply homed in on him - making a clean strike just a matter of time.

He was flying near the VIP box when he realized his mistake. In all the excitement, in all the chatter over the link, Chaser had completely forgotten about the second bludger.

It came from below, almost strafing the stadium wall. He leaned hard to his left, but in doing so the tail of his broom flared out to the right - and caught the bludger. It was a solid hit, and the bristle end of the broom was obliterated. The handle had just enough support for an emergency, but not much else, and down he went.

The question was not whether he would crash, but where. Looking over, he decided not to stick around to find out. With a kick, he let go of the broom.

Marigold's shouted curse told him how much of his panic had gone through the link. Then he realized how much more they were about to get - for when he looked down, he realized that he was going to miss the stands by a little more than a foot.

Reaching out his hand, he tried to bring himself closer to the rail. He had no wand, no real training in wandless magic - all he had was panic and hope.

And intent. Intent for days.

Fortunately for him, all magic is intent. He felt a gentle tug, so slight he would question it later, and his hands closed on the wooden structure.

Looking up, he saw Professors Snape and Lockhart. Lockhart, for once, lacked his usual assurance - the man had every appearance of someone about to faint. Snape, on the other hand, was enraged.

"Potter!" He shouted, even as he reached down to help. "Why must you make such a spectacle of yourself?"

Chaser caught the potions master's arm in a firm grip. "Just living the dream, Professor."

Snape's reply was lost in the crowd's reactions, as Draco and Alicia were now chasing the snitch. Lockhart got a hold of himself, and grasped Harry's shoulder. Between the two professors, they got him into the stands.

Brushing himself off, Chaser looked up at the assembled faculty, his back to the pitch. "Well, that could have been worse." He said this with a grin, ignoring the looks of horror on the faces of the Professors and the Headmistress, who was even then making her way down to him.

He did not see the bludger that struck him from behind.

oOoOoOoOo

Luna saw Spellforged wince, and wondered what had happened. Perhaps he had hurt himself dodging? She filed the thought away for later. His eyes were firmly on Professor Flitwick, who was securing the bludger in a heavy crate. Had the target been a player, the game would have had to continue with the bludger. Since Spellforged was merely a spectator, however, some measures could be taken.

In this case, Madam Hooch had retrieved a replacement bludger from her office. Spellforged had volunteered to carry the 'rogue' bludger back to the castle, as he was not entirely convinced that Dobby would not just enchant one of the remaining bludgers as he had this one. Very shortly, the match would continue.

It had been an exciting few moments, everyone would later agree. But the danger had passed, now. Right?

 _So why,_ thought Luna, _is Harry getting angrier?_

oOoOoOoOo

Professor Snape was placing another bludger in a similar case, as Rose looked on. This one would go straight to the potions master's office, so that he could look it over after the match. There was always the possibility, however unlikely, that someone had gotten into Madam Hooch's office and tampered with the bludger. That possibility needed to be investigated.

Once the crate was gone, and with it her head of house, the match restarted with the replacement bludger. Hearing the whistle, Rose allowed herself to sit down.

oOoOoOoOo

Marigold watch the crate as it was carried away.

"That got a little scary, didn't it?" asked Colin Creevey. She hadn't even heard the first year approach.

"Yeah, it kind of did, didn't it?" said Marigold, with a smile. She leaned against the back rail, still sitting in the top row. "Most matches aren't nearly this exciting, though."

Colin laughed. "I hope not!"

He was sitting a row closer to the front, and had turned around to speak with her. They had not noticed the whistle restarting the match. Colin was looking up at the second year, when he saw her eyes grow wide. Then he found himself sliding down the bench, toppling onto the stairs.

When he stood up and looked back at Marigold, he saw her laid out against the rail, unconscious, a broken bludger beside her.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose did not feel the impact on Marigold, which was a good sign. But then the gryffindor stopped responding over the link, which said that she was down.

Cursing her own stupidity, Rose jumped to her feet. Of course, Dobby would not give up so easily.

 _How do you break a bludger?_ She asked.

 _With spells we know? You don't._ The frustration in Spellforged's voice was clear. _In match play, the balls are controlled by a central warding scheme, with the master stone at the center of the pitch. That way, they all respond when someone grabs the snitch, or the whistle blows, or whatever._

Rose was already on the stairs going down. A bludger struck the railing above her, but did not manage to drive its way through. _And if I leave the pitch?_

 _No idea. They have to have quite a range, to get as high as they do - but yes, get far enough and you'll probably be fine._

Seeker and Spellforged were both treated to a string of invective from Rose, delivered breathlessly as she ran away from the pitch. She questioned Dobby's parentage, his unsavory habits, his personal hygiene, and his innate bloodlust, before going into a long and detailed diatribe about the many things she planned to do to the sorry bastard when she got her hands on the little elf.

On a whim, she ran toward the school's broom shed, where the brooms reserved for flying lessons were kept. She heard the bludger come at her again, and ducked into a roll. The corner of the shed exploded, sending shards of wood in all directions.

The noise was followed by a hollow thump. Rose looked up, and saw the now dead bludger sitting in the grass. She watched it for a minute, her wand at the ready. When it remained still, she sighed heavily, and then rolled onto her back.

By this point, Daphne and Tracey had caught up to her. They saw their friend laying on the wet grass, chuckling to herself as if responding to some private joke.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **A lot of work went in to this chapter, probably the most complex to date. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed finishing it.**

 **Special thanks to the regulars over at the LeadVonE Discord, who gave me some good insights in just how the hell to manage this sequence.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	34. Exhaustion

Seeker and Chaser had both found themselves in the infirmary, after nightfall. Neither had been hurt badly - Seeker's injury was only as bad as it had been thanks to Professor Lockhart's tender care. Chaser, meanwhile, had shattered his collarbone and banged his head, but that too had been easily dealt with.

Of greater concern was their conversation with Dobby.

In both worlds, Dobby had admitted to barring their way to Hogwarts, and then later to attacking with the bludger. If Harry was hurt, the thinking went, then he would have to leave, right? Dobby seemed insistent on the great Harry Potter, sirs, leaving Hogwarts as quickly as possible.

In both worlds, he had left as soon as the professors arrived, carrying a petrified Colin Creevey.

Rose had made her way back to the Slytherin dorm, where several students assumed she had been deliberately attacked for her actions on Halloween. She replied that the professors were already aware of what happened, and that the culprit would die painfully, and to let it be. That got her some chuckles in the common room, and lightened the mood a bit after the Slytherin team's loss in the match, which was her purpose in making the remark.

When Dobby appeared in her dorm room, Rose politely asked him to stand next to Daphne, rather than on her bed - because she was not happy.

Her Dobby, to the elf's credit, held his own in the argument that followed. Yes, he didn't want her friends to be harmed. No, he couldn't protect them. Did his master cause the petrifications? No answer - which was enough of an answer for her. Did his master's son know about it? No answer.

Spellforged, for his part, had not known what to think. For a house elf to risk disobeying their master in this way was highly unusual. He decided to flip a galleon and take a chance. When Dobby appeared to him in Flitwick's office, as he dropped off the 'rogue' bludger, Spellforged begged off.

"Dobby," Spellforged had said, before Dobby could speak. "I know you want to talk about this, and I want to talk about this, but right now I'm pretty angry."

The elf's eyes grew wide, but the elf would not be deterred from his course. "The great Harry Potter, sir, is right to be angry. He was told that Hogwarts is not safe, and came anyway. Now Hogwarts bludgers attack him. He should go to his home, he will be safe there, sir."

Spellforged sighed. He did _not_ have the patience for this today. "Dobby, if I call on you, will you come speak to me?"

Dobby looked at him, considering the request. "If Harry Potter calls, I will come. If my master has no need of me."

"Great. Tomorrow at one in the afternoon, I and my advisor will be at the football pitch. We will be alone. Come then, and we will talk."

Dobby nodded quickly, his expression hinting that he wanted to say something else. Then he disappeared in a soft pop.

Spellforged would have time to prepare for his meeting with Dobby - which suited the ravenclaw just fine. Each of their meetings with the wayward elf had been different, and each gave additional clues. If he treated it as a fourth meeting, rather than his first, Spellforged hoped that he might learn something new.

He felt like he had to pull double duty, there, for Marigold remained silent late into the night.

oOoOoOoOo

"Marigold _still_ isn't up," said Chaser, during their conference the night after the quidditch match. The worry in his voice was obvious, especially since it was a worry they all shared.

"I felt when you two got hurt," said Rose. "I didn't feel it when she got hurt, she just dropped out of the link."

"Same," said Spellforged. "It felt like she had fallen asleep or passed out or something."

Seeker's voice was quiet. "Would we feel it if she, you know…"

"Died?" Rose asked. "I'm not enough of a gryffindor to risk finding out anytime soon, and I hope you aren't either."

"I'm not," Seeker said. "But that's not what I meant. Spellforged, let me ask you something I've wondered about for a long time."

"Alright, go ahead." Spellforged replied.

"The day I got my letter, the day I learned about Hogwarts, I woke up to angry shouting. I felt a pain in my leg. Then I lost consciousness." He paused. "I know the shouting was in the Goblin tongue, now. So I know that it was you I heard."

"Yes," he confirmed.

"So, I heard you in a dead sleep. You were loud enough, across a link we didn't know about yet, to wake me up."

They could hear Spellforged's sigh. "My letter was waiting for me when I awoke that morning. Our owls have always been quicker than most, and Father and I expected a letter. When I went to the training pit for my morning exercises, the trainer announced that I would need to meet with the Director later that day. Another goblin overheard, and questioned my right to go to Hogwarts."

"Why?" asked Chaser. "You're a wizard, of course you could go if you wanted."

"Ah," said Spellforged, "I'm a wizard _and_ a citizen of the Goblin Nation. And goblins are not admitted to Hogwarts. When I said that I planned to attend anyway, Slantedge challenged me to an honour duel."

"That's the one where you win with three hits?"

"Yes. He got one - which you felt, I'm sorry to say." Despite the apology, they could hear the pride in Spellforged's voice. "I got three."

"He sounds a lot like Draco," said Rose.

This got a laugh out of Spellforged. "He should, his uncle is their accounts manager!"

"OK, coming back to my question," said Seeker. "If you can wake me up accidentally, I wonder if we can wake Marigold up on purpose."

That got them thinking. "What, like a rennervate?" asked Rose.

"Yes! Exactly like that." Seeker was excited by the idea.

"What if she is in a coma, and we harm her waking her up?" This, from Chaser. He was thinking back to something Aunt Amelia had said about moving injured patients. "It's late enough at night, they may be keeping her asleep."

"Does rennervate do anything on a coma patient?" asked Seeker.

"I don't think so," said Spellforged, hesitantly. "But we're second years, there's a lot we don't know."

"What if we're overthinking this?" asked Rose. "What if we could just open the link a bit, let her know we're here and she's ok." She considered the idea. "Almost like if we walked into the infirmary and spoke to her while she was asleep, that sort of thing."

The boys were quiet, absorbing this new idea. Rose continued. "I mean, we know the link goes two ways. We woke up when you got hurt, Spellforged. And you, Chaser," He could almost feel her finger pointing at him, even over the link. "I'm betting you had a broom accident when you were eight, am I right?"

 _How the hell did she know that?_ Chaser thought to himself. Over the link, he admitted it. "I got a broom for my eighth birthday, and Neville was sleeping over. We snuck out to fly a bit, and he almost fell off his broom. I tried to catch him and keep him in the air, and fell myself."

"We know," said Seeker. "I got dizzy and passed out during supper."

Spellforged only half listened to the back and forth, focused as he was on considering how to help Marigold. Rose was right, the link did go both ways. And as she was showing, they had used it accidentally a number of times, usually involving pain or high emotion. _So can we do that deliberately?_

"Magic is intent," he said quietly, to himself. None of the others heard him, even though his words had carried over the link. Centering himself, he tried to envision the link as if he were using mage sight. He tried to picture the strings of fate that connected them, these five Potters, together across space and time. He listened to himself, as their words came to him, and tried to trace the magic that brought their words to his mind.

And found nothing.

Frustrated, he thought back to his earliest training in goblin magics - and about how to shape and direct his own magic. He could not find the link, he could not see it. But he _could_ hear it, for Rose was continuing to speak with Seeker and Chaser.

 _Could it be that simple?_ Spellforged wondered. Taking a deep breath, Spellforged let the tiniest pulse of his magic go into the link.

"Hey!" came the voice of Chaser. "I felt that, what did you do?"

"Spellforged?" asked Rose.

"Merlin, he did it." said Seeker in wonder. Then, a pause. "What did he do, exactly?"

"I can't explain it," Spellforged said, suddenly tired. "I can feel the link, but I can't see it or sense it - I just know that it's there. And so does my magic."

He felt it, now - just the smallest tingling, across the link. It was like walking through weak wards - you knew you had passed the ward line, but if you were in a conversation, or if it was a windy day, you might easily miss the effect. There was nothing whatsoever distinctive about the magic he felt, but Spellforged knew with certainty that it had come from Seeker.

"How about that," thought Chaser.

They spent several minutes trying out this new ability, wary about sending too much magic through. Spellforged understood that, for he knew it had taken quite a bit of magic just to send that small pulse. They were transiting across universes, after all.

They probably would have spent more time working on it, had they not been interrupted suddenly.

"Bloody hell, you four are loud," said the very weary voice of Marigold Potter.

oOoOoOoOo

Albus Dumbledore entered the Hospital Wing, hoping to see a recovered Marigold Potter. When he saw the red haired girl still unconscious, he sighed and moved to Madam Pomfrey's office.

The medi-witch looked up from her paperwork. "Still nothing, Albus."

The headmaster nodded, taking a seat across the desk. "Minerva was quite shaken last night, when she learned what had happened." He looked at Pomfrey. "And we're sure she cast nothing?"

The witch gestured at the holly wand, sitting by itself on her desk. "Six warming charms and a drying charm." She shook her head. "No evidence of a shield charm, nor did she cast any sort of banishing charm on Mister Creevey."

At the mention of the first year, the Headmaster looked through the office window, down the infirmary. In the bed next to Marigold, the boy lay petrified. His cherished muggle camera, when they finally pried it out of his frozen hands, was a melted lump of metal. The only clue to the boy's attacker was the fact that only one of the boy's eyes was open - meaning he was likely looking through his camera.

What that might mean, of course, remained unclear.

The shield, though - that question had the Headmaster even more curious. In a high stress situation, under attack? Accidental magic is always a possibility, even in a Hogwarts student. But to cast a shield, wandlessly, with enough power to fracture a league-style bludger? That was almost unheard of.

"And what of Miss Potter's condition?" he asked.

Pomfrey looked at her parchment. "Exhaustion. Whatever she did, it drained her badly." She looked up. "She may be out for a few days, but once she has time to recover, I doubt there will be any lasting damage."

The Headmaster began to reply, when he stopped. His head turned toward Marigold, and he was already out of his chair.

Madam Pomfrey had felt it too. Marigold Potter's magic was pulsing, somehow.

As they approached the bed, Pomfrey performed a set of diagnostic charms. If the readings were correct, and they had to be…

"Stanley!" she shouted. With a pop, the Hogwarts elf assigned to the infirmary appeared.

"Yes, Mistress Poppy, ma'am?" the elf asked, in its high voice.

"Did you give Miss Potter a Pepper-Up Potion?"

The elf looked affronted. "Stanley is not giving anyone their potions, Mistress Poppy. Mistress Poppy is here to give potionses, ma'am."

"Then who did, Stanley?" The medi-witch was worried now, and growing more agitated - magically exhausted patients don't just get their magic back, not without potions. And even then there are risks.

"Bloody hell," said a very quiet Marigold Potter, her eyes still closed. "You four are loud."

Albus Dumbledore and Poppy Pomfrey just looked at each other, stunned.

oOoOoOoOo

The next day, Dobby appeared at the center of the Hogwarts crest, standing at exactly midfield on the newly installed football pitch. Harry Spellforged was sitting in the small bleachers, reading a book. Erik Sullivan was kicking a football against the side of the equipment shed. At the sound of Dobby's arrival, he caught the ball and walked over to his cousin. The pair was alone - the cold breeze and the still wet grass from the previous day's rains ensured that.

Dobby walked over as well, cautiously. He had seen how close to anger Spellforged had been the day before. But he knew that his warnings had not yet gotten through to the wizard, and he needed to understand. He needed to be made to understand.

Dobby fought the urge to bend his ears. Everything rode on the next few minutes.

"Dobby, welcome." said Spellforged, his tone carefully neutral. "Please, join us."

Dobby's eyes grew wide. "The great Harry Potter Sir lets an elf sit with him?" It was hard not to smile at the awe in the elf's voice, even setting the name aside.

"Dobby, please, you can call me Spellforged." He gestured to Erik, who had just sat nearby,

holding the football. "This is Erik Sullivan, my cousin."

"Dobby is pleased to be meeting the great Harry… er, Spellforged's cousin." said Dobby. He gave what might have been a bow, had he been dressed in anything other than a filthy rag. Tentatively, as if expecting to be punished for his gall, Dobby sat in the front row, looking up at the two ravenclaws.

"Good," said Spellforged. "Now we can talk."

"We have talked, and still Harry Spellforged came to Hogwarts." He waved his hands wildly. "There is danger in the school, young sirs. If Harry Pott… Spellforged does not leave the school, he will be hurt."

Spellforged thought about Colin Creevey, the petrified gryffindor. "Yes, there's danger in the halls, and danger in the walls, isn't there?" Dobby gave no reaction. _Perhaps he doesn't know._

"If Harry leaves," said Erik, speaking for the first time. "Then will he be safe?"

"Oh, yes, young mister Sullivans. It is safe outside of Hogwartses."

"Right," agreed Erik. "So, what about me?"

Dobby blinked.

"What about Astoria and Luna and Ginny?" He spun the football in his hands, nervously. "If Harry's safe, should I go with him, then?"

"It is safe outside of Hogwartses," repeated Dobby, quietly.

"Yes," said Spellforged. "But I can't leave Erik behind, if he's in danger. There's already a kid from his year who got petrified last night. What if the same thing happens to him?" He leaned forward, keeping his expression as neutral as he could, while holding the elf's gaze. "What happens if he gets hurt and I find out that I could have stopped it from happening?"

Spellforged saw the elf's hands twitch, slightly. "I must protect Harry Potter," said Dobby, almost in a whisper.

The elf found a wizard's hand on his own. "And I thank you, Dobby, for trying to protect me." Spellforged said, sincerely. He ignored the minor matter of yesterday's mayhem, and chose not to mention the floo blocks - he already knew that Dobby was responsible for those, as he had admitted it to the others. "But I need to be here to protect my cousin, and everyone who might get hurt."

Those elf eyes grew wider once more. "Harry Potter is a great wizard!" Dobby said, again in awe.

"Someday, maybe." Spellforged agreed. "But today I'm just protecting my friends, like you protected me." It was one of his father's negotiating tricks - why let the other person take credit for something, when you can give it to them? The truth was, Dobby protected very little. Spellforged wasn't referring to what he did, but what he _thought_ he had tried to do.

Erik chuckled as the elf hugged his cousin. "The great Harry Potter is wise," said Dobby.

"I need to protect them, Dobby." Their eyes met. This was the important question, the reason why he had wanted to meet the elf. "Can you help me?"

"I cannot be betraying my masters, sirs…" Here, Dobby's voice trembled, and Spellforged fought to keep his expression from hardening. He had heard that voice before, usually when Marigold hinted at her time in Durzkaban.

"...But if I can be helping, I will, Harry Spellforged, Sir." The elf gave a firm nod, as if he had convinced himself of a plan, before popping away.

Erik shook his head. "Can you really trust him, Harry?" the first year asked.

"I'm not sure," was Spellforged's reply. "But at least now, he won't be actively trying to murder me."

Another chuckle from Erik, who was standing up and dribbling the ball. "Well, it's a start."

Spellforged stood as well, shouldering his bag. "Yes, it's a start."

"Now," said Erik. "All we need to do is figure out what Slytherin's Monster is, and where it is, and then stop it."

Spellforged couldn't help but laugh at that. "And to think, all I wanted was an easy year."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Thank you again for your continued support of my writing, and of this story. The fact that so many of you take the time to read and review still amazes me. Of course, I've said that before.**

 **Madam Pomfrey's elf is, of course, named Stanley. This chapter is being posted on 12 November 2018, the day when we lost Comics Legend Stan Lee. A little bit of tribute shouldn't go amiss - especially in a multiverse story. Excelsior!**

 **One other note, from the reviews, that I'll mention here. The five call Chaser and Seeker by those names because they are similar in voice and manner, enough that the girls sometimes had trouble telling them apart early on. (Spellforged, of course, has a much different diction, with a very slight Goblin accent, limiting confusion.) Now, over a year later, the names are a bit of endearment - but are otherwise invisible to others in the world. Identifying those two by their positions is a writer's conceit, born out of an overabundance of caution aimed at making sure y'all know which world we're in.**

 **The five are much more comfortable with each other, now, to the point that Spellforged can identify whose magic he felt across the link.** **And, let's be honest, if every scene with one of those two had to be Harry and Other Harry, I'd run for the damn hills.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	35. The Fourth Bed on the Left

Two days after the quidditch match, Marigold Potter still felt exhausted.

Her magic was healing nicely, according to Madam Pomfrey. And she had been spared any serious injury from the bludger, according to Hermione - just a knock to the head when she fell. But the circumstances of the attack, and of her defense against it, made the medi-witch hesitant to let her leave the infirmary.

Marigold was tired enough to agree. The fact that it was much easier to sleep down here was merely a bonus.

Ron and Hermione visited during lunch that day, after their classes, and Madam Pomfrey asked Stanley to bring all three of them lunch. It was a nice gesture, one that Marigold appreciated. After a few minutes of talk about classes and inconsequential matters, Ron and Hermione shared a look. Marigold sighed - they had had this argument before.

"I think we can use Myrtle's bathroom for brewing the polyjuice, Marigold." said Hermione.

 _Yep,_ she thought. _Same argument._ "What do you think, Ron?" Marigold asked.

Ron looked sheepish, but met her eyes. "I think Hermione is right, we need to know what the snakes know."

"That part, I agree with," replied Marigold. "But there are much easier ways than to slink about with Polyjuice." She smiled at her friends, hoping they realized that she was trying to protect them from the risk. "And as it happens, I may have gotten what we need already."

Hermione leaned forward, visibly restraining herself from poking her injured friend. "Marigold Lillian Potter, what have you done?"

A broad grin crossed Marigold's face. _It would be so easy to tell the truth, wouldn't it? My sister is in Slytherin, and they didn't do it and don't know who did, while a version of my brother is researching the last time the chamber was opened, and he's a bloody ravenclaw, so research is his thing, and by the way you're helping him, Hermione, so relax._

What she actually said was simpler. "Oh, nothing major. A first year snake delivered some potions from Professor Snape, and Pomfrey asked her to check on the patients. When she walked by, I said hello and asked what the hell was going on?"

"Language," scolded Hermione, almost by reflex.

"Funny, she said the same thing before she giggled." Marigold said, getting a chuckle from Ron. "She was pleasant, actually. We talked for a bit, and it turned out that the Slytherins don't know what is going on any more than we do - except that the school seems to blame them, seeing as how a muggleborn was attacked and all."

Ron nodded. "They would be the obvious ones, yeah?"

"Yeah," agreed Marigold. "Which is why I don't think they're behind it."

"Couldn't this slytherin girl have been lying to you?" asked Hermione, her voice uncertain.

Marigold looked at her. _Since she doesn't exist, it's unlikely,_ she thought. "I've had people lying to me for all my life, Hermione. I can tell, usually, when someone's not being honest with me." She smiled again, taking the edge off her comment. "The girl believed what she was saying, at the least."

"Brilliant, that." said Ron. "So now what, then?"

Marigold shrugged. "Not much I can do here, unless another 'slimy snake' wanders past." This got the expected eye roll from Hermione and another chuckle from Ron. "She did say something interesting, though. Draco Malfoy said that the chamber had been opened before, fifty years ago. And a student died."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "That's horrible." She said, quietly.

Marigold nodded. "Yep. But it's also a lead. Whoever opened it then might have something to do with opening it now."

Ron looked at his two friends, his shoulders slumping in resignation. "We have a project, don't we?"

With a grin, Hermione stood up. "Unless you see a library around here, that is."

oOoOoOoOo

Spellforged paused in the center of the infirmary, looking at the fourth bed on the left.

He knew, at this very moment, that Marigold was lying there, still recovering from the quidditch match. She had said that her Ron and Hermione would probably visit during lunch, and would want to investigate the attacks and the chamber.

Briefly, he considered walking over and performing his mage sight.

Did their worlds overlap, somehow? Or were they separated by great distance, as if their universes were galaxies scattered across the sky? And if so, how did they actually speak to one another?

All questions for the book. He doubted they would ever have answers to all of those little questions, beyond the standard "Magic". _But that's alright_ , he reasoned. _Questions like that are why we have ravenclaws._

Soft footsteps behind him brought him back to the present, to the now. To the infirmary. He turned, and saw Luna Lovegood walking up to him. He raised an eyebrow at her, earning little more than one of her serene smiles.

"Colin was kind to me, Harry." she said. Spellforged nodded - that was plenty.

"Alright, then. We do still need to be quiet." She responded with a finger to her lips, earning a chuckle from Spellforged. Then they approached Colin.

The first year gryffindor remained as he had been when he was petrified, a look of surprise etched into his frozen features. Harry was surprised to see as little fear there as he did - perhaps the boy was better suited to the house of the brave than he thought. His legs were offset, one in front of the other, and his shoulders were rotated slightly. It was his clenched hands, frozen in front of his face, that cemented the image in Harry's mind.

And Luna's. "I think he was taking a picture, Harry," she said. Taking her wand from behind her ear, she pointed at his hands. Spellforged nodded. Walking to the side table, he saw the muggle camera sitting on a metal tray.

The camera seemed intact on the surface, but Spellforged saw a slight dribble of black fluid leaking out on one side. Could that be residue from whatever did this?

Spellforged stood up straight, and then took a step back. Luna saw his move, and backed away as well. Again, she watched as he cast his Goblin mage sight. She watched the hand motions carefully, hoping to hear the incantation as well sometime - perhaps she could ask Harry to teach her?

Colin's skin was saturated in a sickly brown, hinting at some sort of magical creature. _They knew that,_ he thought. It was the same as Marigold had reported when she found Mrs. Norris - _so, the same culprit, then_.

The camera had residue in the same shade of brown around its lens, and on the other side near a smaller aperture - probably the viewfinder. Spellforged looked over at the boy's blue-grey eyes. One was opened wider than the other, as if the other had been closed moments before. As if he had been looking through the camera with one eye open.

Luna approached the camera, getting a closer look at the black fluid. She saw what Harry had not - a small metal catch. Using a quill, she very gently opened it - and the back panel of the camera sprang open. Taking her wand, she whispered _Lumos_ , and peered into the camera.

Off Harry's look, she shook her head. "It was the film. Nothing there, it's all melted." She pressed the door closed with her hand, latching it shut with the quill.

Spellforged was still looking at the device, however. "It's a muggle camera, right?" Luna nodded in response. Harry stood beside luna, looking at the various controls across the top of the camera. He then, very gently, reached down and pressed what he thought was the button that would take a picture.

They heard the click of the mechanism, but the flash did nothing - whatever powered the bulb was inert. "Huh." said Harry.

The pair continued to look around, but nothing further caught their attention. After a few minutes, they stood at the foot of the gryffindor's bed, looking at him. Then Luna whispered something to the petrified gryffindor, before patting his shoulder.

In the hallway, Spellforged sat down on one of the nearby benches, in the corner. Luna took a seat facing him.

"What sort of creature crawls through the walls of a castle and petrifies its prey, but doesn't kill them or eat them?" Spellforged asked.

Luna shrugged. "Nothing I've heard of. I'll ask Daddy next time I write, maybe he has an idea."

Spellforged nodded. "I appreciate it." He sighed. "The camera bothers me, though. Why would whatever it was melt the film?"

"If it was a spell," Luna replied, "maybe it hit right on the camera?"

"Maybe, but what creature would cast a spell?"

"I don't know."

The pair sat quietly for a few moments, considering what they had - and hadn't - learned. Eventually, Spellforged got out his notebook and started adding to his notes on the question. Luna noticed the Goblin script, but made no comment.

"I wonder if Daddy would let me write an article about these attacks, when we figure out what it is doing them." Luna mused.

Something about that caught Spellforged's attention. "Maybe someone already did." Off her quizzical look, he smiled. "If this is the Chamber of Secrets, we should look at what happened the last time it was opened."

"When was that, Harry?" Luna asked.

Spellforged put his notebook away, before standing up. "1943." Luna giggled at his offered hand as she allowed him to help her up. "Miss Lovegood, would you accompany me to Madam Pince's Daily Prophet archives?"

oOoOoOoOo

Quidditch practice had been a disaster that evening, at least for Draco Malfoy. It seemed that the year had gone downhill for him - a year that should have been _his_ year! But ever since Rose Potter had dragged him before that Merlin-damned house meeting, everything had gone to dragon shite.

Getting summoned to the hospital wing after practice had helped not at all. He had not even been given time to change, and so walked into the infirmary in his full kit, broom still in hand.

The Creevey boy was still in his bed on the far right, paralyzed or petrified or whatever the hell people were saying had happened to him. All Draco knew was that the lions had been absolutely _furious_. Some of them had even laughed when Rose got attacked by that bludger.

While he could agree with them on _that_ , at least, he had to admit that their reaction bothered him.

On the left, in the fourth bed down, Draco saw a brunette girl in hospital robes. She was laying still and quiet, and he could not tell if she was asleep or unconscious due to injury. The sheets covered any bandages there might have been.

In the chair next to the bed, he saw the sleeping form of a taller blonde girl. _Couldn't be older than third year_ , he thought to himself. She had a winter cloak on, probably in lieu of a blanket. Or perhaps she had just arrived, and collapsed from fatigue?

Madam Pomfrey was standing at the foot of the bed, giving the girls space. Even from several paces away, her diagnostic charms were effective - but the results they gave her still earned a grimace and a shake of the head. _Not good news, then._

No one else was around. Certainly no one with whom Draco was close. He began to worry that something had happened to mother, but his parents were not there either - and if something like that was the cause of his summons, Professor Snape would have been there as well.

"So who summoned me here, then?" Draco asked, more to himself than anything.

"I did."

Turning, Draco saw Rose Potter sitting on the bench near the doors. He deflated when he saw his housemate rising, but said nothing. He looked back into the infirmary, once more trying to figure out who the brunette was.

"Astoria Greengrass," Rose said, off of his look. She did not see his eyes grow wide.

"The story goes that she forgot her bag in Potions, and went back to retrieve it. She was out of sight for seven minutes." Rose stood behind his right shoulder. She spoke quietly, but he heard every word - as she intended. "When her year mates went back, they saw three older boys in red-trimmed robes running off - and a bleeding Astoria, unconscious on the floor."

"How bad?" Draco asked, after a moment.

"Bad." was the response. "She was beaten with a cricket bat, bad enough to break her left thigh. They also got her right forearm. She has two broken ribs, as if the rest weren't enough. Bruises everywhere."

Draco heard a hollow wooden noise, and looked over. He saw Rose holding a wooden implement. At first glance it was like a beater bat, except that the handle was longer and thinner, and the striking surface was wide and flat. He had never seen the like.

"They stunned her, that's the only magic they used." She reversed the club, handing it over. Draco reached out with one hand, giving Rose his broom with the other. She set it against the wall as he examined the bat. "It's a muggle weapon, Draco. From a game that is, to muggles, like quidditch is to us. Chosen for that very reason."

He ran a hand across the flat of the bat, feeling the fine grained wood.

"Before they tired of beating her, they left a note, stabbed into her robes with a quill." She handed him the parchment. In red ink, it said simply 'Snakes go Home!'

Draco shook his head, handing it back. He set the cricket bat down against the bench.

"Astoria wants to be a spellcrafter," began Rose. "She wants to travel the world and learn new spells and pick them apart and put them back together again, completely new." A chuckle, now. "One time she saw a portrait of cherry blossom leaves falling in Japan, and wondered if she could make a spell that loosed a thousand leaves like that. Sort of like Avis launches a number of birds, you know?" Draco nodded. "Only a few of those leaves would be stunners, waiting to strike from all directions." Rose smiled. "She's a ravenclaw who made it into Slytherin, but the truth is she's the best of both."

Rose waved her hand at the Greengrasses. "And now she's laying here for a week, having bones regrown, because the lions are too stupid to think for themselves."

Draco's voice was quiet. "Because of me."

Rose said nothing.

Draco took that as a verdict all its own. "What will you do?" Draco asked.

Rose considered him, his tone, the look of horror on his face. She could not tell whether he was worried at his own fate, or horrified at what had befallen Astoria.

Presently, she spoke. "Do you understand now, Draco Malfoy, what I've been trying to tell you for close to a year?" She looked at him, laser focused on every movement across his face. He turned to look back at her, refusing to cower under the scrutiny. "Do you see what being in Slytherin is supposed to mean?"

"Clearly not," he retorted, growing annoyed. "Else I would not be here."

She smirked at that. "There's that. Alright, here's your free lesson. Everything a Slytherin does has to be for the protection or advancement of their family. Period. Full stop." She smiled at his stunned expression. "Your father was accused of some heavy shite after the last war, yes? And yet you defend the honor of House Malfoy, because family is the most important thing. All magic is family magic, after all, right?" That, at least, got a nod from the boy.

"Here at Hogwarts, we honor our families with the usual Pureblooded dance, Heiress this and Heir that and Honored Sir and so on and so forth, all to a fare thee well." He looked over in time to see her eyes roll. "It's false and fake, and everyone knows it's false and fake, but it's harmless and it's tradition. But your real family is your house. Here at Hogwarts, your house is Slytherin." She poked him on the Slytherin crest adorning his quidditch robes. "You don't wear the Malfoy crest, I don't wear the Potter crest. We're Slytherin."

Rose pointed at the Greengrass sisters. "Those two, there - they are your house."

Draco nodded, understanding. "Everyone hates me."

Rose shrugged. "A nonfatal condition, Mister Malfoy, easily cured with time and an avoidance of fuckery." Draco snorted at that, getting a snicker from Rose.

"So what do I do?"

Rose looked at him again, the amusement gone from both of them. "Tomorrow, when Daphne returns to the common room, offer your sympathies and ask if you can help. Offer to get class assignments or some such. If she tells you to fuck off, you fuck off." She pointed at the Greengrasses again. "And when Astoria leaves here, offer her your apologies - unprompted - and be at her service."

She leaned closer, bringing her voice lower. "And make sure this never, _ever_ , happens to her again."

Draco nodded. "Alright." He said quietly, almost as a whisper.

"I'm sorry?"

He looked at her. "I said alright, I will."

Rose handed him his broom. "Good." She smiled pleasantly at him, as if their previous conversation had never happened. "Now go hit the showers, seeker boy, you _stink_."

Draco snorted again, before smiling and giving her a bow. "As you wish, Heiress Potter." Then he left.

Rose sighed and sat back down on the bench, taking a sip of her now cold tea.

"I hope he listens to you, Miss Potter." said Madam Pomfrey.

Rose smiled. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough," said the medi-witch. "And as a former Slytherin, may I say - thank you." Off Rose's stunned expression, Madam Pomfrey chuckled as she walked back to her office.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Thank you again for the favorites and follows - and especially for the reviews. Special thanks to Superblal, who left the sort of review that makes a writer sit up straight and go "Fuck yeah, they like it!" So thank you, one and all.**

 **I'm going to get hate for Astoria's attack - but physically, she's going to be fine. It's scary, but will do little to dimish her fire. If anything, she will put up with even less nonsense than before. Related - N** **o, I have no intentions of ever going Rose/Draco.**

 **Output may vary a bit over the holidays, and as the usual winter ailments roll from my kids to me, as tradition demands.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	36. The Dueling Platform

Seeker chuckled to himself when Hermione wanted to stay in the castle over the holidays.

Her point was a reasonable one - if it's a student, who else could it be but the slytherins? Eventually, Harry sat her down and showed her the notes he had received. She stared at them, then at him, and back at them. Then she gave him the look - as if she had fifty questions, and couldn't decide which to ask first.

"Explain," she finally said. Harry chuckled as he leaned back in his chair.

A week after Colin Creevey's attack, Harry had received a note via Hedwig. It came from Lord Greengrass, who had invited him (and Lord Black, interestingly) to dinner one night over the holidays. Inside the envelope, Harry had found a very small, very discreet second note, written in flowing script.

 _No fear, just confusion in S as to Heir. Best read - it's not a snake. DG_

During charms that afternoon, Seeker had dropped his assignment next to Daphne's bag. Mumbling an apology, he bent over and gathered his papers. That evening, Daphne found a small note tucked into the pocket of her bag.

 _Many Thanks. HG seeking other options. Chamber opened in '43 - a clue? Stay safe. -H_

Hedwig had brought a reply two days later. It was a short note in a blank envelope.

 _Tell HG 'Cui Bono?' BP bragged that student died in '43. Who? As for you - Tell my father "Yes" and learn some subtlety. Clumsy, you aren't. DG_

Seeker had chuckled at the very slytherin admonishment, as he looked across the great hall and caught Daphne's eye. He nodded once, and then she looked away. That was about as close as they could get, these days, to direct communication - but even that was a beginning, he reasoned.

Hermione was hesitant to trust just any slytherin - but she had spoken with Daphne before, and got along with her, in as far as you could get along with someone while sitting in a charms classroom.

"Cui Bono?" asked Harry.

Hermione smiled. "Who benefits?" She looked back at the notes. "She wants us to see who would gain from attacking muggleborns and closing the school." She held up the second note. "Who exactly is BP?" She could think of no slytherins with those initials, and wanted to know.

Harry grinned. "That would be your friend and mine, the Heir Malfoy. Or, as he is known in the halls of Slytherin House, the Blonde Ponce."

Hermione tried to look stern, really she did. But the laughter escaped her before long, and soon both were sharing a laugh over Draco's new nickname.

oOoOoOoOo

November ended, giving way to December, and its early Scottish snows. Even with no attacks since Colin Creevey, the question of who the Heir of Slytherin might be had rapidly taken over the usual talk of the common rooms.

Everyone had a different theory. Was it Salazar Slytherin himself, returned across the centuries to root out the muggleborns from his beloved school? Or one of the Slytherin upper years, hoping to curry favor with the remaining death eaters? Perhaps it was a disguised Professor Lockhart, hoping for another adventure that might sell books.

What if the actual Heir of Slytherin walked these halls? Surely they would wear green. Slytherin House was the obvious culprit, or at least one of their number. Everyone knew it.

The Five remained unconvinced - Spellforged had given them a healthy skepticism, usually whenever something that 'everybody knows' is true came up. He was well pleased when the others started picking up a few of his habits, such as questioning everything. It made the ravenclaw in him proud.

It helped that they had inside intelligence. Rose had no hint that anyone from her version of Slytherin was involved - and, indeed, every member of the house had been present in the great hall during the Halloween feast, when the first attack took place. The painted warning (in rooster blood, it turned out) had still been wet - a sign that the attack took place during the feast. The other houses, it seems, did not keep as close an eye on their members as Slytherin, for none had taken a head count.

If it was a student, they had escaped notice.

With the Yule break fast approaching, their thoughts turned to holiday plans. Once again, Rose planned to spend the entire break with the Greengrasses. Spellforged would be staying at Gringott's for most of the holiday, though he would portkey over to join his mother and the rest of Clan Sullivan in Killarney, in the south of Ireland, on Christmas Day. Seeker would split time between the Burrow and Longbottom Hall - as would Marigold, though she would also go with Neville to the New Year's Eve party held by Madam Bones.

Chaser had encouraged Marigold to get to know Amelia Bones, and Marigold had been eager to oblige. Madam Bones was her godmother, as it happened, and had been close to Sirius before everything exploded on that Halloween. Part of the reason for the party was to welcome Sirius back into wizarding society. It was to be a small affair, friends and family, but Marigold looked forward to it.

As did Sirius. In all five worlds, afternoons and shopping trips with the newly minted Lord Black were planned. Sirius was still sorting out his old family home, and while papers had been filed for full guardianship, none of those three worlds had seen any movement on that front. Mister Fitzpatrick had expected a slow process, which is why a stay with Sirius had not been planned for - but, for Seeker, Rose, and Marigold, summer prospects were looking up.

Ron and Hermione, who had both suggested sticking around and investigating the slytherins, ultimately decided to go home as well. They already had good information on what the snakes were up to, and most of the snakes they wanted to spy on would be gone as well. Some Hermiones needed more convincing than others, of course, but in the end they all agreed to take the holidays to relax.

Marigold walked in on an argument between her Ron and Ginny, one day in December. Ginny was adamant that she wanted to stay in the castle, but would not explain why. All of her friends - including Marigold, Ron noted - would be gone. Moreover, Bill and Charlie - their older brothers - would be coming home for Christmas, and didn't she want to see them? She huffed and stormed off, plopping down in a corner of the common room and furiously writing in her diary.

Despite the threat of further attacks, it seemed that things had quieted down for the moment. At least, right up until the day that a Dueling Club was announced.

oOoOoOoOo

Spellforged looked at the long, narrow dueling platform that dominated the great hall. It seemed better suited to fencing or some similar sport, as it was narrow enough to prevent one from properly dodging. And if he wanted to approach his opponent, he'd basically be charging their wand - never an optimal strategy.

Not for the first time, Spellforged found himself missing the wide oval arenas of the training pits.

To his surprise, Professor Flitwick - the former two-time European dueling champion and Master-level duelist at the ICW level - was not involved in organizing the dueling club. He had seen Professor Snape hovering at the back of the room, but the man took no step toward the stage. Which left…. _Oh, no._

 _Oh, yes,_ came Seeker's annoyed reply. _Welcome Professor Lockhart._

The Defense professor walked up and down the platform, describing how this club would teach the students of Hogwarts how to defend themselves, just as he had in his long career. Of course, he took the time to mention that they could learn about his various encounters with the darker forces of the wizarding world by looking to his published works.

Then, Lockhart invited Professor Snape up to the platform for a mock duel. They followed all of the niceties - bowing at the center, saluting with their wands, and then pacing to each end of the platform. Lockhart himself counted off the duel. Snape offered his trademark sneer, before casting what had to be the most telegraphed _Expelliarmus_ in the history of dueling.

Lockhart stood there and took it, flying back against the shield at the end of the platform. His wand clattered to the deck. Snape stood there, shaking his head.

Spellforged saw one of the hufflepuffs from their year shaking his head as well, his eyes watching as Lockhart brushed himself off. "Not quite what you expected, is it?" Harry asked.

Justin Finch-Fletchley offered a bit of a shrug. "Everyone gets lucky once. I'd want to see how they do in a real duel."

Nodding, Spellforged watched the professors as they had a rather tense discussion on the dueling platform. "Maybe. I wish we had a proper dueling floor, though. It'll be hard to dodge."

Justin looked at him. "Why dodge when you can cast a shield instead?"

Spellforged smiled a knowing smile. "Because you can't hear your opponent cast a throwing knife." He looked over at the hufflepuff's surprised expression, and offered his hand. "Harry Spellforged."

Justin shook his hand, after a moment. "I know. I mean, everyone probably knows. Justin Finch-Fletchley."

"Yeah, I get that a lot." said Harry.

"I'll bet," replied Justin. He nodded toward the platform, where Snape and Lockhart were pairing students off. "You've done a lot of this, then?"

"Some," he allowed. "But, well… let's just say that the Goblins do things a little differently."

Justin looked like he wanted to ask another question, but was interrupted by Snape's approach. "Mister Finch-Fletchley, you will find Neville Longbottom waiting for you in the corner. And as for you, Mister Spellforged." Snape made a show of pondering the question. "Let's see what Mister Malfoy makes of you. Center platform."

The large center platform had given way to several smaller ones, each featuring a pairing of second years. Malfoy was already waiting for him, a sneer across his face. _Well, then_ , thought Spellforged.

They bowed to each other. Malfoy bowed in the traditional manner, dipping his head in a show of respect for his opponent. Spellforged did the same, except his bow was in the Goblin manner - extending his neck and keeping his eyes on his opponent at all times.

Lockhart noticed. "Why did you bow improperly, Mister Spellforged? Surely you saw my demonstration a moment ago?" The professor spoke with amusement, but Harry could tell that he really didn't understand the question.

"That is the bow I was taught, Professor. Your eyes must always remain on your opponent, even before the duel." He paused, considering how to explain without insulting Lockhart - to his face, in front of dozens. "See, if you take your eyes off of your opponent, you are saying that they are no threat to you. It's an insult, you see. Better to treat their magic with a healthy dose of respect. Sir."

Lockhart nodded sagely, as if absorbing the advice. Spellforged learned something about the professor, in that moment - the man had absolutely no idea how thoroughly Goblin his upbringing had truly been. _That could be fun_ , mused Spellforged.

"Very well then, Mister Malfoy, Mister Spellforged. Proceed!" And with a swish of his cape, he stepped away from the platform. As Spellforged walked to his end of the deck, he noticed with some amusement that several other students bowed as he had - eyes firmly on their opponent. With a grin, Harry turned back to face Malfoy.

Lockhart remained at the center of their platform, and decided to count them off.

"One, Two," He shouted. Spellforged saw Malfoy begin to cast, before the duel even began, and straightened himself up. _He's going to aim high,_ thought Spellforged.

Sure enough, a red spell came screaming toward Harry's chest. The platform didn't give enough room to sidestep, so he did the next best thing and fell onto his back. Of course, his wand was out as well, and he had his own disarming hex in the air before he landed. Malfoy never saw it coming, and flew backwards.

"Splendid, Splendid!" said Lockhart, clapping lightly. Shouts from the other platforms caught his attention, then, and he started to survey the damage.

Malfoy was seething as he got up. "I won, you fell over first!"

Spellforged shrugged. "I dodged your spell, and then hit you with mine." He gave the Malfoy scion a grin. "You fired too soon, of course, so your spell didn't even really count."

Draco had no response. He quieted down when Snape whispered something to him, a grin crossing his features.

Lockhart quieted the room, and suggested that they learn how to block spells. He attempted to demonstrate the proper wand movement, but dropped his wand in the process. "Well, you get the idea. Now, Mister Spellforged, Mister Malfoy, let's try doing that, shall we?"

Harry looked at him. "What, dropping our wands?"

"One, Two, Three!" shouted Lockhart, eager for the room's attention to be anywhere but on him.

Draco wasted no time, aiming his wand and shouting a spell Harry was not expecting. " _Serpensortia!"_ From the end of Draco's wand, a long black snake appeared. Harry looked at it, judging the distance, and reached for his belt with his off hand.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ he shouted, and again a red spell knocked Draco down, his wand clattering to the floor beneath the platform. No one bothered to retrieve it, all eyes were on the snake. Some of the students shrieked in fear.

"Allow me, Mister…." Lockhart froze when he saw the knife in Harry's left hand. It went up, and then came down with a swift motion. It was a short throw, as the snake had continued to advance while he dealt with Draco. With a THUNK, the knife pinned the snake to the platform.

" _LET ME GO, YOU COWARD, I CAN TASTE YOUR FEAR, YOU ARE MEAT!"_ Spellforged looked around, wondering who was shouting - and then locked eyes with the snake. The snake was shouting angrily at him. And he could understand.

Snape arrived, then, and vanished the snake in a black puff of smoke.

The room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Snape had to elbow Lockhart before the Professor dismissed the students. Draco still sat on the platform, staring at the knife embedded in the wooden deck.

Spellforged walked over calmly, wrenching the blade free of the wood and returning it to its sheath. He saw Millicent Bulstrode watching him from the floor, two wands in her hand. He knelt down beside her, looking at the wands. "Draco's, I assume?" Millicent nodded, handing over the Hawthorn wand. "Thank you, Miss Bulstrode." He smiled as she gave him a nervous nod.

Draco saw him walking toward his end of the platform, and started scooting away. This did not work well, as he was already out of room. To his surprise, Spellforged offered a hand.

"We should do this again sometime, Mister Malfoy," Harry said with a grin. Draco shook his head, but took the offered hand and stood up. He was surprised when Harry handed him back his wand. Harry offered him a dainty little wave, as the slytherin stormed off.

 _I think I screwed up, guys…_ said Seeker, across the link.

oOoOoOoOo

Marigold wished she could have given the whole dueling club thing a miss, as Rose had decided to do. Rose had not wanted to be put into a position of dueling against Draco Malfoy, which made a great deal of sense - they had already had enough run-ins to last the entire year. So she spent the evening with Daphne and Astoria, relaxing in the common room.

Marigold, unfortunately, had no such excuse. She did manage to convince Professor Lockhart that she shouldn't participate, since Madam Pomfrey still wanted her taking it easy on her magic - "And you don't want to make Madam Pomfrey mad, do you, Professor Lockhart, sir?" She had fought the urge to bat her eyelashes at the man, as that would probably be laying it on a little thick.

"Quite right, Miss Potter. I hope you will at least attend as a spectator?" Lockhart's glee at the prospect was written all over his face.

"Of course, Professor, I wouldn't want to fall behind, after all."

That was how Marigold Potter found herself watching Draco Malfoy facing off against Justin Finch-Fletchley, from Hufflepuff. Draco had won his first match by jumping the start, and Justin was not happy. Lockhart had tried to demonstrate a shield charm, but failed badly - and then scampered off the platform like the coward he seemed to be. With a quick count, the rematch was on.

" _Serpensortia!"_

Shrieks came from several students, as the long black snake made its way toward the hufflepuff. Justin froze, almost hypnotized. Snape stepped forward to vanish the snake, but Lockhart wanted to assert himself. And so, when he attempted to cast the spell, the snake flew in the air.

And landed right in front of Marigold. She sensed the students around her backing away, but couldn't will herself to move. The snake, meanwhile, was furious. It surged forward, striking at what now looked like the only likely prey in its path.

" _Fuck,"_ hissed Marigold, not realizing that it sounded to all in the room like an actual hiss. The snake was startled by the word, but could not stop its strike as it was already in mid air.

Stepping to the side, Marigold reached out and grabbed the snake behind its head. It writhed angrily in her hand, but she gave it no room to move about. "Professor?" she asked, looking expectantly at Snape.

Snape looked at her, his expression unreadable. Then he pointed his wand at a now empty corner of the room. Marigold nodded, and then tossed the snake in the indicated direction. Snape had it vanished before it landed.

After Lockhart dismissed the room, Hermione and Ron came over to her. Ron grabbed her arm, and then released it when she flinched.

"Did you hiss at that snake?" He asked, and the look on his face said that he was dead serious, despite the ridiculous nature of the question.

"It leaped at me, Ron, I was startled is all." She shrugged. "Didn't you ever hiss when you hurt your knee on something? A damn snake was jumping at me!"

Hermione and Ron looked at each other. She spoke next. "It sounded like you were speaking to it."

Marigold chuckled, hiding her nerves at the direction this was going. "About the only thing I would have said would have lost points for Gryffindor, Hermione." Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing full well how large Marigold's vocabulary could be when it came to swearing. "Guys, it's no big deal. Really."

"You're sure you didn't speak to that snake, Marigold?" asked Hermione. "This is important."

"Of course not," she lied.

Her friends seemed to sag in relief. "Good." said Ron. "If you had, you'd be a Parselmouth. And those are almost always Dark." Such was the venom in his voice that she heard the capital D in 'Dark'.

She smiled, trying to put them at ease. "Do you really think that I would go dark?" asked Marigold.

Hermione looked uncomfortable. "Well, no, but what if the school thought you had? Do you know why Slytherin House has a snake as its mascot? Because Slytherin himself was a parselmouth."

Marigold's eyes grew wider. "They'd think I was the Heiress of Slytherin." Now she understood her friends worry. "Wow."

"Yeah, wow." said Ron, picking up his bag. "Come on, we'd better head back."

As they walked to the common room, she heard Chaser and Seeker grousing about their duels - and about learning that they were indeed Parselmouths, in front of the entire bloody school no less. Chaser had managed to keep his mouth shut, having been warned by Seeker, at least, but it was still a concern. Marigold suddenly felt relief at having dodged that problem, at least.

oOoOoOoOo

Chaser's duel had gone about as well as Seeker's had - right up until Lockhart sent the snake flying toward Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Harry had not considered telling the snake to stop, as Seeker already had - he knew how that would play in front of the school. Instead, he tried Marigold's trick of grabbing the snake. A quick " _Accio Snake!"_ and the thing was flying toward him. He may be a chaser, but he knew he had good enough reflexes to be a seeker - and here, they served him well, for he was able to grab the snake behind its head, as Marigold had done.

The look of relief on Justin's face matched the one on Chaser's - he had avoided outing himself as a parselmouth. The snake, meanwhile, was less than amused. A quick toss, and Snape had vanished it - just in time, too, for Chaser had felt the need to curse at the snake just to shut it up.

Professor Snape, annoyed even more than usual, had turned to Lockhart - only to see that the man had vanished. Grumbling, he dismissed the room before turning and leaving himself, cloak billowing.

Once the room cleared, Chaser spoke for a moment with Ron and Hermione and Susan, none of whom were thrilled with how the evening had ended. When the three began talking about Justin's reaction, Harry thought he heard something. Turning his back to his friends, he cast his mage sight.

There, sitting against the wall in a conjured chair, was a disillusioned Gilderoy Lockhart.

"I think I'm going to walk a bit, calm my nerves," said Harry. "Sue, can you tell Justin I'm sorry about everything tonight? That must have been quite a scare."

Susan nodded. "Sure, Harry." She hugged him, to his surprise. "Take care. I'll see you tomorrow for breakfast?" Off his nod, the three left.

Once they were gone, Harry sat on the dueling platform, his feet dangling off the edge. "Professor, are you alright?"

Lockhart cancelled the disillusionment, and Harry forced himself not to gasp. The man was pale, almost as if he might pass out at any moment.

"Professor?" asked Harry.

"You could have died, Mister Potter." Lockhart was looking at nothing, but his hands and his heavy breathing all screamed 'Panic Attack'. "That snake was venomous, it could have bitten you easily. You or Mister Finchley there."

"Finch-Fletchley."

"Yes, him! Though his name wouldn't bloody matter when the Prophet headline comes out, would it?" Lockhart chuckled, bitterly. "Hogwarts Professor starts dueling club, hufflepuff second year dies on opening night!"

Harry watched the professor place a finger on his wrist, trying to take his own pulse and calm himself down. The five had discussed Lockhart at length, especially after his opening class and its quiz. The others had described a brash, vain man, obsessed with his own image. Chaser had seen some of this as well, but the man in front of him was something different. His manner spoke of a man in over his head, overwhelmed by the position he found himself in.

Spellforged, Seeker, and Marigold all said that Lockhart spoke to the room before dismissing the club. Here, Snape had had to do so - and had been furious about it.

 _He's built a career by lying through his teeth, and now he's seen what could happen if he isn't up to scratch,_ thought Harry.

"It wakes you up, doesn't it?" asked Harry, quietly.

"What does?" said Lockhart.

"Fear." Off the professor's look, Harry shrugged. "You know, when I showed up here, everyone expected me to have all these tales of my adventures around the world. Photos with witches and wizards of legend. It came as a shock when they realized that none of those stories about me were true." He kept his eyes on Lockhart, waiting for the point to hit home.

He did not have to wait long. A sad chuckle came out of the professor. "So what did you do?"

"Nothing. I didn't write the stories, I didn't claim they were true. I just tried to do the best I could, and let my own actions speak for themselves." Harry leaned forward, his hands on the edge of the platform. "It's hard, I would think. But it's doable."

Lockhart shook his head. "Take away the books, and what's left?" He looked up at Harry. "The stories, that's all I am, Mister Potter."

Harry looked at him a moment, seeing the remorse across the man's face. Did he make up his stories from whole cloth? Some of them were outlandish enough that that may be the case. Or did something darker happen, perhaps? Did the stories even match across worlds, he wondered? He thought back to the five's discussions of the man, and asked himself if this Lockhart had simply found himself overwhelmed - or if this Lockhart was the only one of the five to care.

After a minute, Harry got out a piece of parchment and wrote down a name and address. Folding it neatly, he handed it over to the shaking professor.

"What's this, Mister Potter?" asked Lockhart.

"That, Professor, is the name of my family's solicitor. Mister Fitzpatrick has an office down in Hogsmeade, and will keep everything you discuss confidential. He'll take an oath, if you like." Harry nodded at the parchment. "If you really do think that you're in over your head, sir, then I'd suggest talking to him. Anything you decide, he'll know where to start."

Lockhart just stared at the name. He did not notice Harry collecting his bag.

"I hope you have a pleasant holiday, Professor." Lockhart looked up at Harry, as if seeing him for the first time.

"You too, Mister Potter." Lockhart held up the parchment. "And thank you, Harry."

Chaser nodded, before turning and heading back to Gryffindor tower.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Several reviewers noted - correctly - that some Lockharts were different than others. Well caught. Take years of guilt and paralyzing fear of getting caught, mix in an addiction to fame and money, add a dash of impostor syndrome, and you have a recipe for, well, whatever this was. Chaser has not taken on a project - he thinks of it more as damage control. And on his end, you also have Harry's natural compassion factored in. It's no accident that Harry and Susan figured out that the books were fake quickly - for they are indeed more obvious in that world. How that plays out will be seen later.**

 **I started this on a whim five months ago - and the response has been amazing. Thank you again for reading and reviewing.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	37. Fresh Air

The train ride home had been a quiet one for Rose Potter and the Greengrass sisters. Astoria, while healed physically, was quieter than usual. She did not flinch when Daphne came near, but Rose could tell that the girl was more nervous than she had been before the attack. Her eyes would dart toward an opening door, for example, and her wand was never far from her hand.

She had begin studying shield spells with Daphne. When Rose noticed a textbook open to the " _Reducto_ " curse, she grew a little more worried.

 _Hopefully, the time home will be good for her,_ thought Rose.

The attack on Justin Finch-Fletchley had taken any joy out of the end of term. The fact that he was attacked in exactly the same location at exactly the same time in all five worlds was a large, obvious clue - whoever was conducting these attacks, it seemed to be the same person in each world. Or, at the very least, the same method. Nearly-Headless Nick's condition, whatever it was, only added to the mystery. What sort of magic would petrify a ghost?

Rose still managed to find herself surprised that Friday, even with the chaos of that last attack. Professor Snape had held her back after a very tense potions class with the gryffindors. When she approached his desk, he looked at her for a long moment. She met his eyes - they had a tense working relationship, certainly, but he had never bullied her as his counterparts had in other worlds. His reasons were his own, and perhaps she would learn them someday, but it was not a critical issue at the moment.

She looked down at the workbench as he slid a parchment toward her.

"Do not forget your homework, Miss Potter. I hope your holidays are…. fulfilling."

Rose took the parchment, deciding not to open it immediately. "The same to you, Professor." She held up the document. "Thank you for this."

Snape nodded. "I trust you will use it wisely?"

"Of course, sir."

Another nod. "Good. You may go, then."

Rose dipped her head in thanks, then took her bag and left the potions lab. In the hallway, she found Tracey and Millicent waiting for her, making sure she was in a group of three. After Astoria, the snakes were taking no chances. As they watched, she opened the scroll - and grinned.

"Good news, I hope?" asked Tracey.

"The best," replied Rose. "Three names."

Tracey's eyes grew wide, and her hand went to her mouth. Millicent looked at the two of them. "You mean?"

Rose nodded.

"So what now?" asked Millicent.

"Now, we go to lunch. Later, I decide whether to handle them myself or let Lord Greengrass do the honors." Rose tucked the note into her bag.

"You could take them, Rose. I know you could." said Tracey.

Rose had to agree, especially now that she knew exactly _which_ gryffindor sixth years it had been. "True. But a slytherin going around stabbing gryffindors in the neck? Well, it might cause talk." She ignored the snicker from Millicent.

As they walked to lunch, Rose sent the names to the link. No other Astorias, nor any other snakes, had been attacked as her Astoria had been, but if these three lions got it in their head to attack once, they might again. Spellforged's Astoria, being in Ravenclaw, was less of a target - but it turned out that Spellforged was probably the angriest about the attack, other than Rose.

 _Part of me wishes they would try something,_ he said. _I can't just go tell them off cold, if they haven't done anything here._ He sighed. _I wish I had better connections with the lions._

 _You can fix that easy, Harry. Invite Neville over for lunch during the holidays,_ suggested Marigold. _Pretend it's some sort of move with the Potter-Longbottom Alliance, and then just chat about nothing._

 _Marigold, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were letting your inner slytherin out._ Rose's gentle comment was met with a chuckle from her sister. It startled Rose for a moment, having just realized that she thought of Marigold in that way.

oOoOoOoOo

For as much as he loved being at Hogwarts, Seeker had never been happier to get away. As the train pulled into King's Cross Station, he stood at the compartment door, trunk shrunk and in his pocket. He couldn't get away fast enough.

It was the whispers, all of them just loud enough for him to hear. "He controls the beast," they said. "He's a parselmouth!", spat as if the word was a curse. "He attacked Justin!" Even Susan Bones, with whom he had grown friendly, had snapped at him that morning. She said she didn't think he had attacked Justin, but the look on her face said it all - she thought he _could have_.

He was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake. He was a Potter. How could he be the Heir of Slytherin? Logic, as Spellforged had pointed out repeatedly, was not common among wizarding folk, it seemed.

Seeker was probably one of the first dozen students off the train. As planned, he walked to the end of the platform, not far from the Floo point. _Where was he?_ Then he saw his target.

"Padfoot!" shouted Seeker, as he saw Sirius Black standing at the back of the crowd of parents.

"Hey, Pup!" replied Sirius. He could say little else, for Seeker had grabbed him in a bear hug. "Whoa, kid, I'm gonna need to breathe!" Both laughed as Seeker stepped back. Sirius caught the look in his godson's eyes, and frowned a bit. "Everything ok?"

Seeker shrugged. "I'll tell you over dinner."

They planned to have dinner together in Muggle London, before heading over to the Burrow, where Harry would be staying for the week before Christmas. Sirius would then bring Harry with him to Longbottom Hall on Christmas Eve, where the pair would spend the remainder of the holiday. Marigold and Sirius were doing the same, only in reverse - Longbottom Hall first, then the Burrow.

Sirius gave Seeker a look, before nodding. "Alright, Pup. But you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

Harry nodded. He knew. The pair walked to the Floo, leaving the rumors and the gossip behind, at least for a while.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose was not surprised when dinner at Greengrass Manor became a quiet affair. The term had finally caught up with the girls, and Astoria in particular was exhausted. It did not help that she would usually drive the conversation, frequently by irritating her older sister. The interplay between Daphne and Astoria never failed to bring a smile to their parents, which made its absence that much more obvious.

After dinner, Rose asked Daniel Greengrass for a word in private. Selena saw this, and quietly departed. The sisters had already gone to bed, leaving just Rose and Daniel.

Without a word, she took out the parchment she had gotten from Professor Snape. Her eyes met Daniel's as she slid it across the table.

Lord Greengrass did not open it immediately. He knew what it had to be. "Rose, I have to ask…"

"I know, sir." She said, formally. "There are no portraits in the potions hallway, and with no witnesses, the Headmaster could do little."

"So, how then?"

"It takes six minutes, at a full sprint and ignoring the moving staircases, to make it from that hallway to Gryffindor Tower. Seven minutes after the attack, the Fat Lady admitted three sixth year lions. She would not identify them by name, not to me at least, but she did complain that they had left something behind, tucked into a nearby corner. Once she said that, I searched - and found the muggle weapon they had used." She nodded toward the Lord Greengrass. "Professor Snape, it seems, can be much more persuasive than I. The three names she gave him are on that parchment."

Daniel looked down at the parchment. "Have there been reprisals?"

"No," she answered. "However much they richly deserve a beating, I did not think slytherins attacking gryffindors would do much to defuse the tensions filling the castle." She smiled softly, sipping her tea. "And if I were to be honest, attacking them directly would be the Gryffindor way, don't you think?"

Daniel nodded, absently. "Whereas, giving their names to the father of the victim…"

"...Would be the most Slytherin approach."

Daniel took a sip of his scotch, idly swirling the liquid in its glass. "A century ago, this is the sort of thing that would start a blood feud." He took another sip. "They hurt my baby girl, Rose. How do you repay that?"

Rose did her best not to shrug. "I don't know, Lord Greengrass. I am young, sir, and not much travelled."

That got a chuckle out of Daniel. "Miss Potter, sometimes I forget that you are only Daphne's age."

She drummed her fingers on the table, idly. "I had to grow up very fast, sir." Her reply was quiet, but the pain behind the statement was crystal clear.

Daniel looked down, realizing what she had said - and what she had not. "I'm sorry, Rose."

"Me too," she replied, sipping her tea. She shifted back to the topic - not wanting to dredge up more memories. "I have no advice for you, on those names. A close friend of mine would tell you to cut their tendons, and then stab them in the throat. But as much as he seems like it, sometimes, he is not a slytherin. We are."

Lord Greengrass considered that for a moment. "I assume you want to know when I do anything?"

"If possible, yes." she replied.

"Then I thank you, Rose, for this. And for looking out for Astoria." Daniel sat back in his chair, relaxing for the first time that evening. "I owe you a debt, Miss Potter."

"You most certainly do not," argued Rose. "If I had a little sister, I'd want her to be like Astoria. How could I not look after her? She's family."

The look of warmth on Daniel's face, at that moment, almost moved Rose to tears.

oOoOoOoOo

The following Wednesday, Seeker joined Sirius Black for dinner at Greengrass Manor. Rose teased him a bit about that, for she knew that Lord Greengrass would kick the children out of the room to talk business with his wife and Sirius. The idea of Seeker and Daphne having to entertain themselves made her grin.

Seeker was glad that Rose got so much amusement from his friendship with Daphne, and the reality was that he was amused by it as well. Had he not known of Rose's close friend Daphne, he would not have thought to approach the aloof and reserved Daphne of his world. Nor would he have had any hope of breaking the ice, so to speak. So far, those few times they had spoken, they had gotten along quite well - a trend he hoped would continue tonight.

When they arrived, Seeker was surprised to see another guest in the entrance hall - Lord Joseph Hillyer. Daniel Greengrass had invited the Potter Proxy to dinner in order to talk a bit of politics with Sirius, who had yet to take up the Black seat on the Wizengamot. It also gave Harry another chance to chat with his house's proxy - something they had not had many opportunities to do over the past year.

His other reason for inviting Hillyer came out during dinner.

Conversation had been light, mainly centered on the children and their studies. Sirius and Harry had both agreed not to bring up the petrifications, at least not during the meal. Harry had not had much chance to interact with Astoria, and found her as delightful as Rose and Spellforged did - the girl was one of the most sarcastic he had ever met, and she knew just when to sass her sister for maximum effect. Much to Daphne's consternation, and all to the amusement of the room.

After dessert had been served, Daniel stood up. "I have an announcement, if you will all indulge me." He raised his wine glass with a grin, before using it to salute Lord Hillyer. "I'd like to be the first to congratulate our friend, Lord Joseph Hillyer, the designer of the new Atrium at ICW Headquarters in The Hague."

Hillyer looked embarrassed at the praise, though his grin told all who could see just how proud he was. "Daniel, they just named me the designer, I haven't even filed my drawings yet."

"Oh, nonsense." Daniel replied. "By summer, the ICW will have a world-class atrium and entrance hall, together with reworked offices and a caucus pavilion for the members. Those structures will stand for a long time, and the most powerful and influential wizards and witches in the entire world will walk through those doors - into a space you designed." He raised his glass again. "When this is all done, the wizarding world will hail you as one of its finest Builders, Joseph."

Hillyer nodded and acknowledged the toast, not wanting to hijack the dinner more than he already had. "Thank you, Daniel. I hope you all are able to come to the grand opening, if and when."

"When, certainly." Said Selena Greengrass, with a smile. She would have none of her friend's uncertainty here.

"As our hostess says, sir. I'll be there as well." Sirius, seated next to Hillyer, reached over to shake his hand. Hillyer had a grin of his own, and took Sirius' hand with his own gloved right hand.

oOoOoOoOo

Later, as the group was making its way to a sitting room for after dinner drinks, Seeker spoke with Lord Hillyer.

"Joseph, something you said over the summer stuck with me, and I hope you'll help me understand."

"Of course, Harry," replied Hillyer.

"When we met with Sirius at Saint Mungo's, you said your family owed the Blacks a debt that couldn't be paid." Harry looked up at the Potter Proxy. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, what did they do? Sirius says that it isn't his story to tell."

Hillyer paused in a doorway, then turned to Seeker. Leaning against the door frame, he considered his future head of house. "It's not that interesting of a story, honestly."

"From what Sirius has told me, the Black family wasn't one to give aid to other families. Certainly not light ones, from the way he was talking." Harry sat in a nearby chair. "Please, sir."

A nod. "Alright. Well, you know about Grindelwald, in the thirties and forties, yes? Good. And you know about Voldemort in the seventies." Harry nodded, impressed at the use of Voldemort's name. "What isn't talked about very often is the fact that many followers of Grindelwald escaped justice, and continued to cause trouble here and there between the two wars."

Hillyer got a faraway look as he told the tale. "One day, my grandparents were attacked in their home. Both were killed, though not without putting up a fight. My grandmother, in her final moments, disillusioned her daughter with a powerful charm - so that while the attackers eventually found her, they did not find the daughter."

Harry leaned forward, hanging on every word. "The daughter, then?"

Hillyer smiled. "My mother. She was found some hours later, when the spell wore off. Scared the auror half to death, it did, a baby appearing in the middle of a battle-damaged house. But who would take her in? My grandmother had been technically muggleborn, but was actually the first magical child in her line after generations of unknowing squibs. My grandfather was the last of his house as well, so there was no magical family to seek out. It seemed as if my mother, this little baby girl, would end up in an orphanage."

Harry suppressed a shudder. The Dursleys had been hard enough to handle, he could only imagine how bad an orphanage would have been. "So what happened?"

"Lord Arcturus Black, Sirius' grandfather, learned of the attack and stepped in. He arranged for an adoption with a family in the United States, and stood as one of my mother's guardians." He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "That simple act of kindness ensured that my mother grew up in a loving home, surrounded by magic. In turn, it eventually brought my family in contact with the Potters, and led to me being here, with you and Sirius and the others."

"I can say, without hyperbole, that Arcturus Black saved my mother's life, and mine as well, with that one simple act. He never told me why, either - when I would bring it up with him, he would smile softly to himself and say that the debt was paid." Hillyer shook his head. "I never understood that. As I said this summer, from my seat at the table, this is a debt that cannot be repaid in full."

"It sounds almost like a Potter thing to do, actually." said Harry. "What was it, on our crest? 'To do the right thing, to see that it is done?'"

Hillyer grinned, impressed. "Wisely said, Heir Potter. Perhaps some of old Charlus rubbed off on Arcturus, in that moment." He offered his gloved hand to Harry. "But enough of old ghosts, Harry - our hosts are surely wondering where I've taken you."

Harry took the offered hand, and its firm grip, and stood. "Daphne will want me to distract her sister, I suspect."

"In that case, this may help." Hillyer reached into his robes, and pulled out a small package. As Harry took them, he saw that it was a deck of muggle playing cards.

"Do you play Euchre, by any chance?"

oOoOoOoOo

Molly Weasley had put together a lavish feast for Christmas Eve. She did not say that it was in honor of Marigold and Sirius coming to the Burrow for the holiday, but they all knew. Molly loved to cook for an audience.

Marigold's offers of assistance were swiftly rebuffed, as were everyone else's.

After the meal, and the seemingly endless pies and tarts that followed, the family adjourned to the living room, which seemed to have expanded to encompass the entire Weasley clan. It was the first time in years that all seven children were home, and the conversation was lively.

Sirius grilled Charlie on his job overseas as a dragon handler, while a fascinated Marigold listened closely. She turned away only when she heard the twins quietly asking Bill about his job with Gringotts, and if he could help them get funding for a joke shop someday. Sirius and Marigold shared a look at that.

When Fred suggested that they wanted to follow in the footsteps of the Marauders, Sirius chuckled to himself - and resolved to tell them about Padfoot someday.

Eventually, the food and the hour caught up to them, and the family went to bed. Marigold gave Sirius a hug before he floo'ed to his cousin Andromeda's home. The Tonks family had invited her over for lunch after Boxing Day, and Marigold was eager to meet more of her 'family'.

Ginny was already asleep when Marigold sat down on the folding cot in her room. A light still shone over the girl's desk, and on it she saw the diary.

Marigold stood over the desk, looking at the leather volume. It seemed old, much older than a girl's diary really should be. The gold embossed lettering on the cover caught her eye, less for its style and more for the name it displayed - which was _not_ G M Weasley, as she had expected.

She gently nudged the link with her thoughts - no need to wake anyone at this hour. _Does anyone know who T M Riddle is?_

Only Spellforged was awake, which did not surprise her - she was uncertain if the ravenclaw ever slept. _It rings a bell, but I can't place it. Why?_

 _Ginny has a diary that she's been writing in all term, almost to the point that she's a little weird about it. It has that name on its cover._

She opened the cover, just to see the first page - she did not want to read her friend's diary, but she was worried. Ginny had been bright and fun-loving over the summer, but ever since they had gotten to Hogwarts, she had withdrawn into herself. Her brothers had not noticed, as they all had their own concerns - but she had. After Platform 9 and three quarters, she had watched Ginny closely. Once you paid attention, the changes were obvious.

 _It's blank._ She stared at the first page of the diary, before flipping to the next one. Then the next. The entire diary was blank.

 _Really?_ Asked Spellforged.

Marigold leaned forward, preparing to write on the first page. She looked at her hand, realizing that she held a quill that she didn't remember picking up. With her left hand, she closed the diary, before backing away.

 _I almost wrote in it. It felt like I had to._ Marigold sat down on her bed, her hand now shaking. _I can still feel it from here._

 _A compulsion._ The distaste in Spellforged's voice was real.

 _Yeah,_ agreed Marigold. _What the hell kind of diary is this?_

 _The kind you avoid, Marigold._ There it was, Spellforged's 'Don't argue with me' voice.

 _No kidding, really?_ Marigold shook her head. _But what do we do about Gin?_

Marigold looked across the room to her friend, who seemed to be sleeping soundly, a soft smile on her face.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **No need for #justiceforastoria, folks, Rose is on it. But as with everything she's done this year, even more than the last, she is looking at it through the lens of what it means to be Slytherin - and what it _should_ mean. **

**Meanwhile, by request, welcome back Lord Hillyer. Wizarding architecture fascinates me, so expect a visit to The Hague over the summer holidays.**

 **(We'll also have about 15k words detailing the five going trunk shopping, because I realize - to my horror - that I forgot that almost mandatory scene. Should they get trunks with seven rooms, or eleven? Are two potions labs enough?)**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	38. In-depth Research

Marigold looked from the sleeping Ginny Weasley to the Riddle diary, sitting open on the desk. She saw the inked quill sitting invitingly next to the diary, and could still feel the subtle pull of the pages. The compulsion magic was weak, but real nonetheless. Something in that book wanted her to write.

How would such a diary have influenced her if she had held it for months? What had it done to Ginny?

 _I want to see what the diary does if I write._ Marigold thought.

Spellforged let the unease in his thoughts carry across the link. _I really don't like it, Mari._

Marigold smiled at his concern. _I know. Honestly, neither do I. But look, Ginny's been writing in it since at least the end of summer, and she is alright, mostly. And I have you here to pull me back if it tries anything, right?_

The silence before his reply was troubling - he wanted to find an alternative - any alternative. _Have you tried mage sight?_

Rolling her eyes at the lapse, Marigold uttered the incantation. A few objects glowed dimly, surprisingly few for a magical home. She ignored that - her eyes were on the inky black surrounding the diary. _Dark Black. Merlin, I wish you could see this._

 _That's soul magic, Mari. Powerful, from what you're describing._ Spellforged paused, more worry bleeding through. _Be very careful._

Marigold nodded to herself, as if Spellforged could see. _Always._ She took up the quill.

She looked at the first page, studying it. The book seemed to all appearances to be a plain, muggle diary. A drop of ink from the quill, however, rapidly disappeared as if the diary had drank it. With a sigh, she put quill to page.

- _My name is Marigold Potter.-_

After a moment, the line she had written faded, to be replaced with another.

 _ **-Hello Marigold Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?-**_

 _-A friend of mine left it on her desk, and I thought it was someone else's that had been misplaced. I apologize for trying to read your diary.-_

Marigold wanted to know more about this Tom Riddle, and played the meek trespasser card almost by instinct. She reasoned that the diary wanted to be read, it wanted someone writing in its pages - even if it wasn't the same person. Did Tom Riddle remember Ginny?

 _ **-Not at all, Marigold. I left my memories in this diary so that they could be read. You did nothing wrong. Is Ginevra well?-**_

 _That answers that,_ she thought.

 _If it has some hold on Ginny, then it makes sense that it would want to go back to her. Or else it would have to start over with you._ Spellforged still sounded worried.

When the next line appeared on the page, she realized how right he was.

 _ **-Is someone else there with you?-**_

Marigold slid back in the chair, dropping the quill, her face a mask of horror.

oOoOoOoOo

Ragnok never, ever entered his son's room without asking, but the shouted curses he had heard, at this late hour, screamed _threat_ in the old goblin's mind.

Opening the door, blade in hand, he saw Spellforged standing in the center of the room, breathing heavily, his hands on his desk. He looked up as the door opened, before realizing why his father was standing there.

"It's alright, father, it was just a nightmare."

Ragnok did not lower his blade. "Should I be concerned?"

Harry shook his head. "No, sir. If it becomes an issue, I will of course tell you."

Now, Ragnok sheathed the blade. "As you say, Harry. Do get some rest. You have an early portkey tomorrow."

"Of course. Thank you, father." With a nod, the door closed, and Spellforged was alone once more.

 _Spellforged, you there?_ Marigold's voice was as agitated as his had been moments before.

 _I heard it. I heard a whisper of the thing before you read it back to me._ He continued to calm himself. If this artifact was as dark as it seemed, they could not risk it learning about the link.

 _I'm walking away now._ Marigold's resolve was clear, even across the link. Harry found himself nodding at it - that would be his choice, as well, were he there.

 _Good move,_ he acknowledged.

 _I need to find a way to talk to Ginny about this. Oh, oh Merlin, what if it tells her?_

Spellforged heard the rising panic in her voice. _Then it tells her. Nothing for it, you'll just need to play it off. Say it fell off the desk and you didn't realize it was hers or what have you. Say it seemed like a neat trick. She might say something that helps._

He could feel Marigold calming down, even as he did the same. _Harry, what if all five Ginny's have a diary like this?_ He considered the ramifications of that as she continued. _You said she gave you a look after her sorting, she tried to get into Ravenclaw, didn't she? And Rose said she tried to get into her Slytherin._

 _I believe so - but I can check the book in the morning, see what I wrote down in my notes. That sounds correct, though._

 _Right,_ Marigold said, moving forward as only a gryffindor could. _So Ginny tried to get into our house, even if it wasn't Gryffindor._ She paused, then. _Why?_

Groaning, Spellforged stood up again, moving to his desk - and its locked drawer, which contained a small notebook written exclusively in the goblin tongue.

 _That, Marigold, is an excellent question._ He grabbed a quill of his own.

oOoOoOoOo

It was mid-afternoon on Christmas Day when Remus Lupin found Chaser Potter. Susan and her aunt had left after lunch, and James was talking Padfoot's ear off about some Wizengamot issue coming up in the January sitting. All three marauders had noticed the look of worry on Chaser's face as he left the entrance hall, having joined his father and uncles in seeing the Bones family off. Moony had agreed to talk to him - but deliberately took his time in finding him, to give the boy a bit of time by himself.

It had been no secret where he would end up. Harry spent more time in here than James did in his study. The door to the quidditch den opened, and Remus stepped through. At first glance, the room seemed empty, despite the bright electric lights Lily had had installed so long ago as a surprise for James. He had helped her with the runes that kept them powered, and that kept their bulbs from burning out.

The bright lights illuminated the rows of quidditch brooms in their racks mounted on the long wall of the room. Most of those brooms were past their prime, kept for sentimental value. Mounted in a place of pride was the Cleansweep predecessor that old Charlus had been given when he learned to fly.

Along the far wall, between two cabinets of broom supplies, was a large net. At the center was an opening the size of a regulation Quidditch goal. It was set to the International standard, with a radius about nine inches narrower than British League regulations, and two feet narrower than the goals at Hogwarts. The net, and the goal, fed quaffles to a bin on the floor, where they would be swapped to the other end of the room.

As Remus watched, a quaffle sped across the room and passed through the goal. Turning, he saw Chaser Potter sitting on a worn muggle couch, his feet up on a low coffee table, sipping a butterbeer with his left hand. A quiet _ding_ sounded, and Harry reached into the bin sitting next to him on the couch. Eyeing the goal, Harry threw the quaffle - and again made a goal.

"That's some fine shooting, pup," said Remus. Harry looked up and smiled at his Uncle Moony.

"Hey, Moony," he said. He threw another quaffle, this time with a bit of spin. The ball plonked the interior edge of the goal, before bouncing in.

Remus considered the shot - it would have been a perfect way to get around a tenacious keeper. Reaching into the cooler, he grabbed a butterbeer for himself along with another for Harry, before sitting in the armchair at the end of the coffee table. His own boot-clad feet went up, matching Harry's.

"What's bothering you, pup?" asked Remus.

Chaser tossed in another goal before replying. "I'm worried about the school, Moony." He looked over at his uncle. "Something is petrifying students, and we can't figure out what it is."

Amelia had mentioned the attacks, in passing, during the Christmas meal - and Remus had noticed that Susan and Harry said very little about the matter. At this stage, Amelia was fighting a losing battle to keep the Minister out of the investigation, but it seemed that her efforts would be for naught once school started up again in January. The Board was agitating for something to be done, and the Headmaster had been unable to reassure them. With Lord Malfoy as chair this year, it was only a matter of time before Fudge got into the mix.

"The Chamber of Secrets, I hear, right?" asked Remus. Off Harry's nod, he gave a nod of his own, leaning back in the chair.

"Do you know anything about it, Moony?" asked Chaser. He knew that Hermione and Susan would be researching anything they could about it come January, but Uncle Moony had tutored him in history - maybe he knew something useful.

"Some, mostly rumor." said Remus.

Chaser shrugged, taking another drink. "Anything might help, at this point. Sue and I have no idea what's causing all of this, other than that we don't think it's a slytherin."

"Oh?" asked Remus. "Why not?"

A chuckle. "Moony, what part of 'charge in and use a monster to attack your enemies' sounds like 'cunning and ambition'? Whoever did this wasn't being subtle about it - which means they're either a bad slytherin, or someone wanting it to look like a slytherin is doing it."

"That's…. actually, that's a really good point." Remus was impressed. Chaser grinned at him and tossed another quaffle, scoring once again. Remus gave a chuckle of his own, for Chaser had scored without looking.

"So," Remus continued, "The Chamber of Secrets." He sipped his drink. "You have to understand Slytherin himself before you understand his chamber. We have what is known to be fact, and we have what people have guessed over the years. It is a fact that Salazar Slytherin joined with the other founders to start Hogwarts a thousand years ago, in the year 990. Before that, he had travelled extensively, mostly in the Far East. We have some tales of his travels, again mostly second hand. In one case, records from 973 describe a sage in green who stopped a group of non-magical Christian pilgrims from attacking a magical family in the fortress city of Shushtar, in what is now Iran. The Arabic form of the sage's name translates as Salazar."

"I wonder if that family was pureblooded," said Chaser, enraptured by the tale.

"The records are unclear - in that part of the world, you either had magic or you didn't. And remember, this is before the statute, so magicals and non magicals knowingly lived side by side. What we do know is that the elders of the city rewarded Slytherin with the opportunity to study under them, for a time. In turn, he taught some of his own, more traditional magic to their elders." Remus looked thoughtful. "A scroll from three years later describes a celebration for the sage's departure. The muggle elders, alongside the magical ones, gifted Slytherin a magnificent steel sword, inlaid with gems in emerald, and engraved with the name of his house. A decade after that, we have accounts from travellers of foreign sages visiting Shushtar to learn magic, so maybe they got the idea for a small magical school from Slytherin?"

Chaser was shocked - this didn't exactly sound like a pureblood supremacist. Muggles celebrating Salazar Slytherin? The fact that he had a sword was a surprise, as well - the only founder's weapon Chaser had heard of before was the lost Sword of Gryffindor.

"Shustar might have grown into a major academy of magic, had the crusades not intervened." Remus sipped his drink absently, in full professor mode. Chaser grinned at the gesture - he always loved Moony's lessons, and the man had probably forgotten more history than Harry would ever know. "Battles throughout the region forced many magicals to flee or go underground. By the 1500's, Shustar had been razed, and its magical population scattered."

"So," said Chaser, "it was like a mini-Hogwarts?"

"Maybe." answered Remus. "That was not the last record we have before the founding, either. In 981, Slytherin had returned to the British Isles, spending some time in his native Ireland. There, in a small village along the east coast, he found several wizards threatening to burn down a house containing a muggle family of five. The wizards said that the father had beaten one of their sons after the boy performed accidental magic. Slytherin agreed to mediate the dispute, according to contemporary accounts."

"Mediate?" asked Harry. "Wouldn't he just kill them all?"

Remus chuckled. "You'd think, but that's not what the witnesses said, that day. Slytherin put up a powerful ward, isolating himself and the wizard whose son had been beaten, and brought the man out of his home. There, the muggle said that his youngest had been hurt when the wizard's son lost control of his magic and sent out a blast of magical power. He struck the boy to knock him out and stop the magic from flaring even more."

"The wizard," Remus continued, "when he heard the muggle's side of things, simply shrugged. 'Who cares?' the man said, 'He's a muggle. He struck my son. His family should die for daring to attack the family of a wizard.' Slytherin looked from one father to the other, before he held out his hand. Witnesses said that a sword appeared, then. Experts believe this was the same sword he received in Shustar. It was curved like a blade from that part of the world, and it had green gems that caught the sunlight, for all the gathering villagers to see."

"One record gives us a word for word account of Slytherin's actions that day. Apart from documents related to Hogwarts, it is one of the few direct records we have of the man's philosophy." Remus leaned forward, speaking quietly. He knew Chaser was hanging on every word.

"Slytherin said that magic was a gift beyond price, unbelievably precious - and that if the wizard could not control his son, then perhaps the rest of his family could. But whatever the muggle man had done, that did not mean that his family, his wife and young children, should be burned. But the muggles, who even then outnumbered their magical cousins, could not be allowed to attack our children with impunity."

"He looked at the muggle man, and cast his gaze across the faces of the man's family. He then told the muggle man to choose one of his children. That child, Slytherin said, would be killed for his failure."

Chaser's jaw dropped. "That's even worse than I expected."

"Ah," said Remus. "But that's not the whole story. The muggle man stood up, tall and proud, and said that the mistake was his own - not his children's. He begged Salazar Slytherin, bane of the muggles and champion of the pureblood cause, to kill _him_ instead. Slytherin looked at him, and then at the wizard. And then he struck - and the wizard's head fell to the ground, followed by his body."

"Anyone who would kill a child for the sins of the father had no business living, he said. Then he told the crowd to disperse. The wizards were angry, until Slytherin asked them which of _their_ children should die for their crimes? The wizard who died, he failed when he did not teach his son to control his magic - and blamed the muggle who probably saved the boy's life. Slytherin would not abide such cowardice."

Harry was stunned. "Why did he threaten the muggle? When he knew the wizard was the one who would be punished?"

"We don't know." Remus looked at Harry. "Some experts believe it was a test - if the muggle would hand over his child for his own mistake, then perhaps he was deserving of death after all."

 _That made some sense,_ Chaser thought. _Except for the fact that it's Salazar bloody Slytherin defending muggles._ "Why do we never hear about this?" Harry asked.

Remus reached for a fresh butterbeer. "It's not a goblin rebellion, is it? And if the pureblood houses learned that Slytherin himself would have held them responsible for the actions of their children? That he defended muggles, at least on occasion? No, you'll never hear that in Hogwarts."

Considering that, Harry took another butterbeer for himself. "So, how does this relate to the Chamber?"

"It relates by showing how Slytherin came to be one of the four founders. He spent years in a foreign land, studying their magic, learning about other magical cultures and techniques. Then he returned home and found wizards placing themselves at risk by not training their children. The solution, when his friends proposed it, was obvious." Remus smiled at Harry. "Thus, Hogwarts."

"Records of the Chamber itself are sparse. We know it was built in the early 1020's, thirty years after the founding. We don't know why or how. Even the wards at the school do not pass its walls. Some records point to an incident of some sort involving a student who died at Hogwarts, but there are no names and no specifics - we only know that construction began shortly after. In 1037, Slytherin demanded additional protections for the students, mainly against muggles. When the other three rebuffed him, he left, in what later became known to scholars as 'Slytherin's Flight'."

Chaser sat back. "He demanded protection from muggles, and the other three didn't give it to him - so he built his own." He tossed another quaffle. "What was in the chamber?"

Remus shrugged. "No one knows. Most believe it was a great beast of some sort, made to kill muggles and muggleborn. That was the rumor in the '40s, when it was opened last." He looked thoughtful. "You know, a student did die that time, when it was opened, and a gryffindor was expelled for it."

Chaser leaned forward again. "A gryffindor? Opening Slytherin's chamber?" He sipped his butterbeer. "Who was it?"

Remus smiled, and Chaser thought it looked sad. "Now, let me say first that I doubt it was him this time - he was in London during one of the attacks this year, visiting with me. And if I tell you, I need you to keep it quiet."

"Of course," said Harry, instantly. Remus looked at him for a moment, before nodding.

"It was Hagrid, Harry. Hagrid was expelled for opening the Chamber of Secrets."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **A bonus chapter for you, both to resolve Marigold's encounter with the diary and to lay down some history behind Salazar Slytherin. It is safe to presume that all five worlds have this shared history, or else they would have diverged far enough over ten centuries for there to be radically different circumstances in the early 1990's. A butterfly flaps its wings, and so forth.**

 **Part of the reason for this oral history of Salazar Slytherin is that I wanted to lay out some of the background before we enter the Chamber. Finding old journals in a hidden room in the Chamber, usually written in Parselscript, is enough of a cliche that I wanted to go a different way here. And be honest, Remus just fits as a history nerd, doesn't he? With a thousand years of bored scholars poking at original records and guessing, we would surely know more than we do about one of the major figures in wizarding history. I mean, Slytherin didn't just appear at the gates of Hogwarts in 990, ready to start a school. He had to have had his own journey. We explore part of that here.**

 **300 follows - thank you for taking this journey with me. Keep circulating the tapes, and so forth.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	39. Operation Diary, Part One

Rose was in a foul mood when the five began their conference, the evening of Boxing Day.

After Marigold and Spellforged told the others about their encounter with the Riddle diary, the discussion quickly turned to how rapidly they could get the diary away from her. For Chaser and Seeker, stopping over for a visit was simple and routine. Marigold was still staying there, and could easily sneak the diary away. Spellforged had an idea as well, but did not get into specifics - though he did mention that one of the older Weasley siblings worked at his Gringotts as an apprentice cursebreaker.

For all of them, there was a plausible excuse for showing up at the Burrow.

For Rose, however? Not so much. The only Weasley she might write to would be Ron, and he had not written to her - which might make her letter suspect. They had not exchanged gifts at Christmas, so thank you notes were out. Even if a floo call was accepted, she couldn't exactly discuss her plan with Ron, not openly anyway. She didn't know Ginny well enough to notice changes in her behavior, so that excuse was out, as well.

In short, she knew that Ginny had a dark artifact that seemed self-aware, and she could do nothing until school started back up. Rose liked that not one bit.

The old saying about not trusting something that speaks and thinks when you cannot see where it keeps its brain was true, so far as Rose was concerned - the diary bothered her on a fundamental level. She could not explain why, for she did not know who T M Riddle might have been. Something told her that he, and his diary, were not ones to be trusted. It was a gut feeling, pure instinct, and little else. But it was enough - relieving Ginny Weasley of her most precious possession would be her top priority, come the new year.

oOoOoOoOo

A letter was waiting for Spellforged the next morning.

 _27 December 1992_

 _Harry Spellforged  
_ _C/O Office of the Director (Urgent!)  
_ _Gringotts, London_

 _Harry,_

 _I hope you're having a pleasant holiday, and that your Christmas was a happy one._

 _Daddy and I have enjoyed spending this past week together, but the wrackspurts seem to have taken a liking to my friend Ginny. I invited her over one day last week, while Daddy was at the office being Mister Lovegood, Sir, and working on the next Quibbler. Ginny told me off! She said we weren't friends and that I should leave her alone._

 _Something is wrong with Ginny. I don't know what, but I need to find out. Would you come to the Burrow with me this afternoon? I want to talk to Ginny, but don't want to do it alone._

 _If you can come, or even if you can't, please floo. Our home is "The Rookery"._

 _Worried,_

 _Luna Lovegood_

Harry read the letter through twice before chuckling to himself. Luna was one of the more insightful people he knew, and she missed nothing. The fact that she had known Ginny for years only made the changes in the gryffindor's behavior that much more obvious. As he recalled, their homes were near the same village, which explained the long friendship.

After sending a quick reply agreeing to Luna's request, Spellforged went to his father's office. He found Ragnok at his desk, working on year end paperwork. The bank generally operated on the British calendar for its fiscal year, even though the Nation itself used the Goblin calendar (with its odd blend of Lunar months and monthless festival days). That meant reports and paperwork a plenty for the Director.

Ragnok saw the nervous energy in his son as soon as the boy walked in. He raised an eyebrow, but decided to wait for Harry to ask his question.

"Would you mind if I took the floo and visited a friend this afternoon?" asked Spellforged.

"A classmate?" asked Ragnok.

"Yes, Luna Lovegood. Her father runs the Quibbler."

"Aha, Xenophilius. Good man, that one. Our clan used to manage the Lovegood accounts, many years ago." He considered Harry's posture, his shifting weight from one foot to another, his already packed bag. "And is there any particular reason for your visit today?"

Spellforged fought hard to keep his voice even. "She wrote today and asked me to stop by. She is worried about one of her friends."

"Indeed," said Ragnok. He tapped a clawed finger on his desk, his eyes never leaving his son. "And is that all you will be doing, Harry?" Spellforged's mask fell a little, and Ragnok knew something else was going on. "Harry, I told you to be up front with me. What is happening here?"

Spellforged sighed, and then took a seat across from his father. "One of Luna's friends acquired a diary that seems to be an empty muggle journal. When she writes in it, the diary responds. It seems to have a compulsion charm that forces you to write in it. Ever since the late summer, Luna says that her friend has been cold and distant, and that her behavior has changed radically. We believe the diary is to blame."

"There is a logic to that," Ragnok said. "I assume you know how to deal with the diary, then?"

Spellforged nodded. He had borrowed an enchanted silk bag from the curse breakers before stopping here. "Separate the artifact from its holder and then contain it, sir."

Ragnok nodded. "Beginner's curse breaking. It's always easier to avoid the curse if you take steps to avoid triggering it." The Director leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. "What is the name of Miss Lovegood's friend, Harry?"

"Ginny Weasley."

"Oh? We have a Weasley finishing his apprenticeship with the curse breakers."

Spellforged grinned. "Yes, we do. And it so happens that Bill Weasley is at his family's home, today. I actually planned to ask Bill for assistance, if it becomes necessary."

Ragnok nodded. "A wise choice. I doubt he will object, but if he does, suggest that I would… appreciate… his assistance in this matter."

"Of course, father."

"Good." Ragnok rose, and walked around his desk. "Good luck, then, Harry. Be careful."

Spellforged offered his father an exaggerated bow. "Of course, Director." Both of them chuckled at that. Ragnok was still grinning when he saw his son disappear into the floo. Then he walked into the antechamber, where the bank's Head of Security was speaking to a subordinate.

"Ripclaw!" The armored goblin turned and looked at the approaching Director, before offering a bow.

"Yes, My Lord Director?"

"Send a small team of disillusioned warriors to the Weasley home in Ottery St. Catchpole. Tell them to remain outside the wards and monitor the home. My son will be there obtaining a dark artifact for disposal."

Ripclaw nodded, even as he ran through a list of on-duty goblins who would be up to the task. "You expect trouble, My Lord?"

"No," said Ragnok. "But when did that stop my son? If something does happen, approach the home and assist him. If not, wait for my signal and then return."

Once Ripclaw had left to summon his men, Ragnok gathered his thoughts. _I know you don't think you need help, Harry, but I can't take that risk._

oOoOoOoOo

"Welcome to the Rookery, Mister Spellforged."

Harry lifted himself off of the floor, brushing the dust off of his winter cloak. When he looked up, he saw a tall, thin man in brightly-colored robes. "Thank you, sir. Mister Lovegood, I presume?"

"I should hope so, my lad, otherwise whoever owns this house will be quite cross."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that - that comment left no doubt. "Well, if they haven't complained yet, I imagine it's not an issue."

Xenophilius Lovegood laughed at that. "Luna said that you gave as good as you got. High praise, coming from her."

That got a grin from Harry. "Quite. I've learned to trust Luna's insights on most things. She's yet to steer me wrong."

"My daughter is a good judge of character, Mister Spellforged. She speaks well of you, and of Miss Granger, Miss Greengrass, and Mister Sullivan." He inclined his head, a gesture Harry had seen several times from Luna. "I'm glad you were able to come so quickly."

Harry's face turned serious as well. "Luna would not have asked if she did not have legitimate concerns. Of course I would come under such circumstances."

Xeno nodded at this. "I trust the risk is low?"

"Minimal," replied Spellforged. "Ginny's brother is one of our curse breakers. I plan to recruit him shortly after we arrive. Between the three of us, we will manage."

"Good." Xeno offered his hand, which Spellforged took. "Sometime, I would like to publish a brief column in the Goblin language, to expand our readership into the warrens. If you would like to be a freelance writer, my daughter can set you up on the path to a rewarding career."

"A gracious offer, Mister Lovegood. I'll keep it in mind." The sound of light footsteps on the stairs told him that Luna was approaching. Harry turned, just in time to find his arms full of blonde girl.

Luna hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Harry."

"Anytime, Luna." Harry replied. They separated, and he saw that she seemed to have been crying. "We'll take care of it, Luna. She'll be alright."

"I know," replied Luna. She glanced at the fireplace behind her father. "The last time I called on the floo, Ginny told me off."

Spellforged picked up his bag. "It's a short walk, isn't it?"

Luna nodded. "And someone taught me warming charms."

Xeno chuckled, getting looks from the two ravenclaws. "Then you'd best put them to use, my dear. You don't want to keep your friend waiting." He gave a meaningful look to Harry. "Good luck, you two."

oOoOoOoOo

It was about a ten minute walk to the Burrow from the Rookery. After Luna took a few moments to show him the grounds of her family's home, they walked down the path in companionable silence.

 _Luna and I are going to find Bill Weasley first,_ Spellforged sent to the link. _He's a curse breaker at Gringotts, and should be able to help. Then Luna will either find the diary or stun Ginny and take it._

Marigold didn't like the sound of that. _Won't the Weasleys be sour with us if we go in and stun their daughter?_

 _They might._ Spellforged agreed. _I'm hoping that Bill's verdict on the diary and how dark the magic is will justify it. Perhaps Ginny will throw a fit, and one of them will stun her. I don't know, Marigold._

 _Be safe,_ said Rose.

 _Thanks, Rose._ Spellforged looked down, to find that Luna had hooked an arm around his own. She was smiling as they walked.

"Knut for your thoughts?" asked Spellforged. Luna looked up at him, still smiling.

"Your sisters sound nice," said Luna. She did not lose her smile when Spellforged froze in his tracks.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, quietly.

Luna met his eyes with her own. She kept her expression calm, and let the smile fade. She could sense the tension in him, and even though she had expected it somewhat, it still surprised her.

"Rose and Marigold," she said. "You never used their names before now." She watched his gaze grow more intense, as if he were trying to decipher how much she knew. Gently, and slow enough to show that she was not a threat, Luna reached up and placed her hand on the side of Harry's throat.

"When you speak to them, you subvocalize. I can see your muscles flex, just barely but it's there." She smiled again. "I've seen you talking to yourself since the start of term, Harry. Sometimes about quidditch, sometimes about school. Frequently about the monster in the walls." She inclined her head at him, just as her father had done earlier. "And I've seen the wrackspurts."

Harry's gaze did not waver. "What did the wrackspurts do, Luna?"

She chuckled. "When they lose interest in someone, they fly off and go away. But yours, Harry, sometimes they go through you and… on. As if they stepped through a doorway."

He smiled softly, trying to let his worry drain away. "Maybe they do."

"Probably," she agreed. She hooked her arm around his once more, before starting to drag him along the path. "Come on, we have work to do."

Spellforged shook his head, still smiling. "Luna, you'll keep this between us, right?"

"Of course," she replied. "On one condition." She laughed when his expression fell again. "Nothing like that. All I ask is that you tell me how they react when you tell them that I said 'Hi!'."

Now Spellforged laughed with her. "Before or after they lose their minds?" He was still smiling when his eyes met hers once more. "Seriously, though, this is the secret of secrets, Luna. You're the only one who ever figured it out, the only one who knows."

Luna smiled brightly. "Then it's a good thing you trust me, isn't it, Harry?"

oOoOoOoOo

The five had discussed their strategy at length the previous night. Chaser and Seeker planned to floo over to the Burrow in the middle of the afternoon, so that they would have the diary in hand and under Bill's care before Mister Weasley returned home from the Ministry. Marigold, meanwhile, planned to recruit Bill early, so that he could help her secure the diary - again, shortly before Mister Weasley arrived home.

All three eagerly awaited word of Spellforged's attempt. He didn't know Ginny as well as they did, though Luna would help there. What he did have was instant credibility with Bill, as both a Goblin and as the son of his boss's boss. Bill's response to the situation there would, hopefully, inform how the other three would approach him in their worlds.

When it was Bill Weasley who opened the kitchen door and invited Luna and Spellforged inside, it seemed like fate had smiled.

While Spellforged made small talk with Bill, Luna wandered into the sitting room - and found Ginny quietly writing in the diary. Ginny did not notice her (former?) friend enter, nor did she see Luna leave again.

As Luna returned to the kitchen, she passed the family's clock. She did not notice Ginny's hand, the only one of the nine that pointed at "Danger". Nor did anyone notice when the hand slid to "Mortal Peril" a few minutes later, just as Bill agreed to help.

"Hey Ginny, can you come here a minute?" shouted Bill. The trio heard the girl grumbling as she got off the couch and walked into the kitchen.

"Yes?" asked Ginny, from the doorway.

Bill smiled at her. Luna was sitting next to him. "Luna was telling me that I should keep a notebook for curse breaking. You've been getting a lot of use out of that diary, so I thought maybe something like that would work for me. Can I see the cover?"

Ginny physically recoiled at the mention of the diary, even as her face remained passive.

Bill continued. "I just want to see who made it, so I can order one for myself."

There was turmoil on the girl's face. Part of her wanted to run, to escape discovery. Part of her wanted to hand the diary to her brother, to get rid of it, to throw it away and flee. Luna glanced at Bill, as they waited for Ginny's response.

She took a halting step forward. Then her face turned to a sneer, and her hand started to come out of her robes. A bright flash of red light came from the corner, striking Ginny and causing her to crumple to the floor.

Spellforged stood, from his chair in the corner. He carefully slid Ginny's wand out of her reach as he approached. Bill looked shocked, and remained sitting.

"She was going to hex us. Why?"

"Because of that." Harry nudged her other hand with his foot, and the diary - still clutched in her left hand - slid out of the pocket of Ginny's robes. Using a dish towel, Spellforged grabbed the diary and set it on the table.

Bill took out his wand and began casting diagnostic charms on the diary. His face grew paler and paler as he did so.

oOoOoOoOo

Chaser was sitting in the entrance hall of Potter Manor, reading a book. He planned to floo over to the Burrow as soon as Spellforged had finished. His thoughts were on how, exactly, he would get the diary away from Ginny without stunning her.

When Spellforged began describing his encounter with Ginny, it seemed less and less likely that he would be able to pull it off. From his telling, Bill had suggested asking to look at the book, but had not anticipated Ginny pulling out her wand. The girl was sleeping, for now, while Molly and Arthur watched over her.

Molly had been furious enough to summon Arthur from the Ministry. Both calmed down when Bill showed them the diagnostics he had run - tests which couldn't even identify the type of curse on the diary, just that it was among the worst of dark curses. When the parchment got to the section where instructions were provided for cleansing the object, the only text read "Deliver to Supervisor."

With Arthur's permission, Bill and Spellforged took the diary to Gringotts. What the curse breakers would find was anyone's guess.

 _Better get going_ , thought Chaser. "The Burrow!" he shouted, as the floo turned green.

Bill was sitting in the kitchen, just as he had been for Spellforged. "Oh, hello Harry. Back so soon? Want me to get Ron?"

Chaser nodded. "Actually, Bill, I wanted to talk to you about something important." He sat down next to Bill, and began to explain the situation.

"She has WHAT?" Bill almost jumped out of his chair when Harry described the diary.

"If it's controlling her," said Harry, calmly, "then she might attack us if we try to take it."

Bill shook his head. "Knowing a trap is there is the first step to disarming it. First rule of curse breaking." Without another moment's delay, Bill turned and walked into the sitting room, wand in hand.

Harry had not yet moved to follow, when he heard a yelp and a thud. He was just passing the clock when he saw Ginny's hand tick over from "Danger" to "Home". That was when the swearing began - Bill had started his diagnostics.

oOoOoOoOo

Seeker found that his Bill Weasley reacted in similar fashion. He was unbothered by it. It would, after all, be much easier for Bill to explain why he stunned his sister, than for Harry to explain why he floo'ed over from Longbottom Hall just to assault his friend's sister.

Ginny was sleeping peacefully in her room, levitated there by the twins. Harry and Bill remained in the kitchen, waiting for Mister Weasley to arrive. Bill had already delivered the diary to the Goblins, who were busy analyzing it. Chaser was preparing a similar speech in his world. The crisis was past, now - they could afford to take the time to finish the job.

The floo turned green, and admitted the tall form of Arthur Weasley. His greeting died on his lips when he saw the looks on Bill and Harry.

"Please sit down, Mister Weasley, we need to talk to you." said Seeker.

Bill almost needed to seek out a calming draught, such was Arthur Weasley's fury when he learned what had happened. It took both Harry and Bill to reassure the man that his daughter would be alright.

Arthur looked surprised when Seeker gave him a piece of parchment. "What's this, Harry?"

"That, Mister Weasley, is the name of my family's solicitor. I'm told that he works with muggle and magical mind healers all the time. If Ginny needs one, Mister Fitzpatrick will take care of it." Harry held up his hand, hoping to stop Mister Weasley's protest before it could begin. "In my worry over her situation, I neglected to get Ginny a Christmas gift. Let me do this for her."

Arthur considered that for a moment, before nodding. He then folded the parchment and placed it in his robes. "Thank you, Harry. For everything."

 _Thank you, Chaser,_ thought Seeker. _The mind healer idea was brilliant._

 _Glad it worked,_ replied Chaser.

 _Maybe she'll get Madam Cornwall?_ Marigold wondered. At Hermione's urging, she had seen her mind healer once a month, since she accidentally incinerated Professor Quirrell. It had not been long before they started unpacking her issues with the Dursleys - which was why Hermione had suggested the idea in the first place.

With the influence of the diary gone, Ginny could finally begin to heal.

oOoOoOoOo

As Arthur and Seeker were discussing mind healers in their world, Marigold was quietly walking up the stairs to Ginny's room in her own. She had not seen the girl in the sitting room, which made her wonder what had changed between her world and the other three. Bill suggested bringing Ginny down for a late afternoon snack or something, anything that would get her out of her room.

When she opened the door to Ginny's bedroom, she found Ginny on her bed, pale and feverish. Checking her pupils, Marigold saw that she was not asleep - she was out cold. Could the Diary have gotten wind of what she planned?

Standing, she cast her mage sight. Ginny was covered in a dark magic, writhing and pulsating as if it were alive. Two tendrils of power reached out from her chest, toward the opposite side of the room. Marigold turned, her wand in hand.

And found an older boy staring back at her. He had dark hair, and was wearing Hogwarts robes. There was something about him, though - he looked unfinished, a bit fuzzy around the edges, as if he were a memory or a projection of some sort. As she looked closer, Marigold saw the telltale green on his tie.

The boy was in Slytherin.

"She won't wake, you know." said the boy.

Marigold saw the diary, sitting on the desk. It, too, had tendrils of power. One connected it to the boy, and the other connected it to Ginny. She fought off a gasp when she saw a tiny finger of magic reaching toward her, as well.

"It's you." Marigold said, the realization hitting her. _No no no no no._

"Yes," said the boy, a grin splitting his features. "Tom Marvolo Riddle, at your service."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Lots of moving parts, here.** **Rarely will I resort to cheap cliffhangers - this situation seemed to beg for it, however.**

 **The scene with Luna and Spellforged on the path to the Burrow is one of the scenes I've had in mind since this story began. I hope it came out right.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, reviewed, and linked this story. We've passed 200 favorites, added close to fifty followers in a week, and are inching toward 200 reviews as well. Never thought I'd say this, but your feedback keeps me going. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	40. Operation Diary, Part Two

Marigold saw the diary, sitting on the desk. It, too, had tendrils of power. One connected it to the boy, and the other connected it to Ginny. She fought off a gasp when she saw a tiny finger of magic reaching toward her, as well.

"It's you." Marigold said, the realization hitting her. _No no no no no._

"Yes," said the boy, a grin splitting his features. "Tom Marvolo Riddle, at your service."

oOoOoOoOo

They stared at each other for a few moments, the face of the diary and the girl who lived. Marigold saw that the boy seemed to be holding Ginny's wand, the pale yew wood matching the ghostly pallor of the hand holding it.

Tom saw her glance at the wand, and held it up like a trophy. "Young Ginevra was most helpful, wouldn't you say? She even carries a wand of the same wood as my own."

"Bill!" Marigold shouted. Tom lazily flicked the wand at her, and she found herself silenced.

"Ah ah ah, Miss Potter, that won't do." The boy's sneer at her moment of weakness caused her to physically recoil. "Where is that Gryffindor courage, eh?"

She stared back at him, hate filling her eyes. She heard a dull banging on the door, and hoped that maybe Bill had heard her. Tom gave Ginny's wand another flick, and the banging stopped.

Marigold stepped forward, and found herself stopped by an invisible barrier. The desk, and thus the diary, were on her side of it, but Tom, the exit, and Ginny's wand were all on the other. The air in front of her was slightly distorted, as if she were looking through thick glass. _Glass?_ She turned and looked at the window, only to see the same blur. There would be no escape that way.

Tom's voice drew her attention back to his side of the room. "You know, Miss Potter, I wasn't planning on taking full control of Miss Weasley until the spring, when I had had all year to absorb her magic and her soul. You've forced me to act before she was ready."

Marigold just gave him another glare.

"Ginny, of course, is fascinated by you. She wants to be you, I think." He grinned at her. "Maybe I should kill her parents, to give her a taste of your pathetic life. How do you think she'd like that, Miss Potter?"

Barrier or no, Marigold surged forward again. Tom chuckled at her rage.

"We spoke about you, all the time. How you were raised by filthy muggles to hate your gifts, how they hated you." Tom stepped closer, speaking quietly. "How they hurt you." His face took on a look of contemplation. "You know, Marigold, you and I are a lot alike."

Marigold shook her head violently, angrily. Inside, she was screaming. _Inside…. HEY help me!_ She frantically sent her thoughts to the link.

"Yes, very similar," Tom continued. "Except that I don't have five other witches and wizards in my head. Fascinating, how you can draw on their magic and wisdom at will. Perhaps I should learn that trick, once I'm done with Miss Weasley, there."

Marigold struck the barrier with her fist, ignoring the pain that shot up her arm. _HELP ME!_

"Ah ah, I told you, I wanted to talk, just me and you." He sneered again. "Do you think I'd let your friends interfere? No, my dear, you are quite alone. As you always have been."

The reality of his words caught up with her. She ignored the part where he revealed that he knew about the link. She ignored that she could draw on their magic, if she only knew how. No, she focused on the silence she felt when she reached for the link.

Even in the darkest nights, huddled in the cupboard under the stairs, broken and bleeding after a romp with Dudley and his mates, even then she had never been alone. Even then, she had felt protected, guarded. She had always thought it was her brother, watching over her. Later, on the train to Hogwarts, she learned that she was right three times over, with a sister in the mix to boot.

Tom had taken that away.

Tom had broken the link.

In a moment of fury, Marigold Potter screamed.

oOoOoOoOo

Bill Weasley had heard the shout of his name, and had scrambled up the stairs to Ginny's room. _Something had gone wrong,_ he thought. The sudden silence from the room, coupled with the locking charm on the door, confirmed his guess.

Ginny and Marigold were in trouble, and he could not help.

The family clock was chiming as he returned to the kitchen. Ginny's hand, as well as his own, both pointed at "Mortal Danger". Bill stared at that for a moment, frozen. As he stood there, Ginny's hand popped slightly, loosening.

Preparing to fall off of the clock.

Bill's eyes grew wide. _No, not today._

His brothers were out at the quidditch pitch - and what would they be able to do, anyway? If there was danger, Mom would never forgive him for bringing them closer to it. Would Gringotts come and help? Possibly - but not without knowing what they were walking into.

He got to the fireplace, and quickly called his father's office. Mister Weasley said he would be right there, but that Bill should call Dumbledore. Especially with Marigold involved, Dumbledore would know what to do.

Taking another pinch of floo powder, Bill tossed it into the fireplace. "Hogwarts Headmaster's Office!" he shouted.

oOoOoOoOo

Fawkes lazily turned as the fireplace in the Headmaster's office turned green.

"Headmaster, it's Bill Weasley. We need you at the Burrow - something has attacked Ginny and Marigold! Please come quick!" The voice was panicked, as one might expect.

The Sorting Hat, sitting on its shelf, grumbled at the noise. "He's not here, boy!" the hat shouted. Fawkes never found out whether the boy in the fireplace heard what the hat had said - for at that moment, an ear-shattering scream came through the fireplace. With an angry puff, the flames went red again.

Fawkes looked at the hat. The creases in the hat seemed to deepen, the closest it could come to a look of worry.

Stretching its wings, Fawkes flew across the room. The phoenix did not notice one of the headmasters race out of their portrait.

oOoOoOoOo

"Lord Black!"

Sirius Black looked up from his book, and saw an old wizard race into one of the paintings in the Lord's study. It took him a moment to realize that the wizard was Phineas Nigellus Black, a former Headmaster at Hogwarts. _What did the old man want now?_ Sirius asked himself.

oOoOoOoOo

Tom had actually stepped back a bit when Marigold broke the silencing charm.

"Feel better now?" he asked.

Marigold's glare could kill a man at ten paces, such was the hate she poured into it. "You have no idea what you've done." Her voice was quiet and cold and dripping with menace.

"I know exactly what I've done, girl." The sneer was back, though it was balanced with no small amount of anger, now. She had defied this boy, and he was angry. "I've taken the hopes and secrets of a blood traitor, and used her to give myself a new chance at life. I've used a gryffindor, from a light family, and continued Slytherin's noble work. And now, I've brought you here, I've neutralized you, and I've trapped you." Tom scoffed. "You, who they call the greatest witch in a generation, the girl-who-failed-to-die."

"Tell me, Marigold Potter, how does it feel to know that everything you are is because of your brother?"

Marigold stared at him. "What?"

He gestured at her. "You are a witch of no extraordinary talent and only a moderate amount of magic. Ginny told me how you defeated the greatest Dark Lord of them all, and as a baby to boot. I refused to believe - and now, seeing you in front of me, I know I was right. It's reassuring, you know."

She felt like she needed to play for time. "Reassuring, how?"

"Well, isn't it obvious? Your brother somehow challenged the Dark Lord, and died for his efforts. The fact that the world believes that pathetic little you could have done anything to help just shows how foolish the world is." He chuckled. "I showed them once, it seems. I'll have to do so again."

Marigold fought the impulse to laugh in his face. "You're comparing yourself to Voldemort? Now who's pathetic?"

Tom took a step forward, his face growing annoyed. "Voldemort was a greater wizard than your brother could have ever been." He sneered. "And I will be again."

As Marigold watched, Tom wrote letters in fire, suspended in the air. TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. Then, with a wave of the wand, the letters rearranged themselves.

A gasp escaped Marigold. She closed her eyes, fighting back a tear. In her hands, she felt the hot ash of Quirinus Quirrell's neck as he died. This boy, this creature, was _him?_

The letters floated before her, proclaiming the reality of her situation.

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose and Daphne had been sitting in the parlor, reading. Daphne had worried about her friend, for Rose had seemed somewhat on edge all day. It was late afternoon, and the sky was already beginning to darken.

Daphne looked up with a start when Rose gasped. Her eyes grew wide, and she looked like she was trying to say something, but no words came out.

"Rose?"

Rose turned slowly to look at Daphne, a faraway look in her eyes.

"I, Daphne I…" Rose stammered. She walked over to the door, grabbing her cloak as she went. "I need to get some air." Daphne watched her leave, puzzled by her distress. Quietly, she asked one of the Greengrass elves to keep an eye on her friend.

Outside, Rose was furious. _Where is she?_

 _We don't know,_ answered Chaser. _I felt a stab of pain from the link, and then it was as if Marigold disappeared._

Seeker was upset as well. _Could the diary have gotten to her?_

 _No,_ answered Spellforged. _We'd hear it if it did._ The four quickly realized that whatever Marigold was facing, she would have to do it without them. None of them had any idea what to do next.

oOoOoOoOo

"Not long now," said Tom, his hand almost toying with the yew wand.

 _Keep him talking, give Bill time,_ Marigold thought, looking from Ginny to the diary. Then she turned to Tom.

"You said something about Slytherin's noble work, what did you mean?"

Tom chuckled. "Slytherin was the greatest of the Hogwarts Four, and the most powerful. He wanted Hogwarts to be a home for British magicals, and only magicals. He believed that letting muggles come to learn magic would destroy our way of life. And he was right - the truth of his words is obvious." Tom shook his head, angrily, and began pacing. "The other founders, however, did not share his aims. They sought to take this gift and deliver it to the hands of the muggles, the blood traitors. They would give away the tools of our destruction."

"So Slytherin left a gift to the school, just before he parted ways with the traitors that ran things. He built a massive chamber underneath the school. There, he carved a statue of his face, and within it he hid a basilisk. Should it ever be necessary, the basilisk would come out and slaughter the mudbloods." The sneer returned at this point in the story. "When I found the chamber, I knew then what fate had called me to do. I had killed my first mudblood before that year was out."

Marigold kept her eyes on his. "He so feared the muggles that he would lash out to kill them, like a child?" She let out a sad chuckle, calculated to enrage the spirit before her. "The coward's path, that."

"Slytherin was more powerful than you, girl," Tom said angrily.

"Oh, maybe." She said, seeing how he was losing his calm. "But look at you, then. Gifted with power beyond any other student and you use it to kill? You're just like your hero, a coward."

Tom stepped forward. "I fear no one!"

The pieces clicked together. "You killed a muggleborn… in 1943, perhaps? That's it, it was you." Off his look of anger, she grinned. "Yes, Tom, you were afraid. Riddle is not a pure blooded name, and if it were then I seem to have ended your worthless family."

"Do not speak that name!" Sputtered Tom.

"So you're at least a half blood. But that won't do, not in Slytherin, not in the days of Grindelwald. The older slytherins would eat you alive. But if you could show them your power, show them your dedication to the cause… well." Marigold sighed. "Like I said, the coward's path. No cunning there."

"I was the true Heir, they would have respected me. They would have fallen in line."

Marigold scoffed. She was feeling stronger, as if a warmth had begin to fill her soul. "You learn that you are the heir to the strongest of the founders, and you proceed to go on a murder spree? Not even a good one, you killed a single muggleborn and that's it. Pathetic."

"I fooled them all," spat Tom. "How's that for cunning? I fooled Dumbledore. I fooled Dippet. I fooled poor dumb Hagrid."

A soft melody wove its way through the air, as if slowly penetrating the sealed room. "You stupid bastard, it took me just seven minutes to figure it out. And after today, the world will know exactly how great a coward Tom Riddle truly was." She lifted her hair, displaying her scar. "He so feared a pair of toddlers that he tried to kill them, and died painfully in the process." She brought her hand down. "A decade later, he tried to possess a professor, only to be killed on the floor of the great hall. By me. With my bare fucking hands." She stepped forward again, her anger growing once more. "And now he comes before me as a ghost, trying to frighten me, but he is the one who cowers."

Tom raised the wand, before remembering the barrier. His hand lowered again, though she can see it shaking. The boy smiled. "Say what you will. I have all the power here. You have none. And in moments, my power will be made flesh, and your friend will lose her life." Another sneer. "And then you will be all alone."

The wall behind Tom flared with a bright light, as it reflected what had to be flames from across the room. The song she had heard, deep in her soul, was now clear as crystal. "No, Tom," she said. "Haven't you been listening? I'm never alone."

She turned to see that Fawkes had appeared at the foot of Ginny's bed. Its song changed into one of mourning, as it hopped up to her chest. Where it had landed, Marigold saw the Sorting Hat.

Tom laughed. "Your life in danger, and Dumbledore sends the hat? He must be more foolish than I thought."

Marigold ignored him, as she placed the hat on her head. _Help me,_ she thought. Surely Dumbledore had a plan?

The hat seemed to slide down her head, covering her entire face. Confused, she lifted it up, and saw that it had expanded dramatically. When the opening was wider than her arm was long, and the hat's brim looked almost painfully stretched, she felt something hard strike her hand. Grasping the object, she pulled it out of the hat.

Or, rather, she pulled the hat off if it. For the object was a round disc, maybe three feet in diameter. It was made of a heavy metal, polished to a mirror shine. The side she saw had a thick handle of red leather, intact but clearly worn with age and use. Fascinated, she turned the disc over, and saw a gleaming silver shield. The entire surface was reflective, and she could see her distorted mirror image in the metal. Two bands of thicker material crossed the disc, meeting at a small, round dome at the center.

Tom was laughing. "A relic, maybe from one of the suits of armor in the corridors? Dumbledore is mad, girl. He just killed you with his stupidity."

Marigold, meanwhile, was looking intently at Fawkes. "What do I do with this?" She asked the phoenix. In response, the majestic bird grabbed the diary off of the desk and tossed it into the middle of the floor. As her eyes tracked the diary, she felt the shield move under her hands. Looking down, she saw that the center of the shield had changed.

Where once there was a simple dome of metal, now she saw an angry-looking steel spike. Its edge looked razor sharp, its point deadly. Her eyes went from the shield to the diary.

Tom saw the look. "The diary cannot be destroyed, not like that." Marigold grinned back at him when she heard a hint of fear in his voice.

"Let's find out," she said. Grasping the shield with both hands, she drove the blade into the leather book.

Nothing happened.

Tom laughed. "See? Now Ginny will find out what happens to those who doubt my power. I will…" he paused, and his eyes grew wide with fear. The shield had been a flat disc when it struck the diary, but as he watched it began to curve down. The edge of the shield seemed to close around the diary, the metal forming a dome over it.

"No!" shouted Tom. Marigold looked up, to see the boy fall to his knees. She looked back at Ginny, and then to Tom once more, before casting her mage sight. The tendrils that connected Ginny and Tom to the diary had been severed - now, the only flow of magic was from Tom back to Ginny.

She understood, finally. "The diary, it was the conduit."

"I can still kill you, Potter!" The yew wand came up, and Marigold realized with a start that the barrier between them was gone. "Now I finish what I started!"

The hand that held the wand was shaking, however - the drain of magic had begin to slow, as Ginny had recovered most of what Tom had stolen. The boy seemed to be growing more insubstantial by the second - as Marigold watched, the yew wand dropped to the floor, having passed harmlessly through the hand that held it.

Tom Riddle's shade followed moments later, falling to the floor of Ginny's bedroom. The boy's face twisted into a pained grin. "Too late…" he said, before fading completely.

Marigold looked back at Ginny, and then sent an _Alohamora_ at the door. "Bill!" she shouted once again, this time knowing she would be heard.

She did not hear the door open, did not see Bill and Molly enter the room. Her eyes were only on Ginny, who was laying on her bed, pale and still. Her hand was at Ginny's throat in an instant, seeking a pulse that was not there.

"Help me," Marigold prayed, not to any God, but to her family. Kneeling on the bed beside her friend, Marigold Potter began chest compressions.

oOoOoOoOo

 _Help me,_ came the girl's voice over the link.

Spellforged shot to his feet, racing out of his room and down the corridor. Entering the lounge he shared with his father, he began looking at the bookshelves that lined the wall. _It has to be here,_ he thought. _Aha!_

Grabbing the book, he opened it on a nearby table. Flipping from page to page, he soon found the charm he was looking for.

 _Marigold,_ he send over the link. _Are you still doing CPR?_

 _Yes,_ came the tired response. _Bill is doing diagnostic charms and Molly is weeping._

 _Alright,_ he replied. _This is like a low-powered rennervate. Listen closely._ He began telling her the incantation for the Goblin healing spell he had found. He hoped against hope that she could combine it with the muggle technique to get Ginny's heart going again.

 _Open palm, pulse the magic, say_ _ **/Belgiseiben/**_ _. Got it._ Marigold sounded as if she was running out of strength - which she may well be, between dealing with Tom and then literally keeping Ginny alive.

oOoOoOoOo

James Potter had gone straight to the Burrow from work, and was currently sitting with Arthur and Molly. Ginny, his Ginny, was resting comfortably. Bill was still at Gringotts, waiting on information about the diary. The other Weasleys were making themselves scarce, knowing when not to interfere.

Chaser had no doubt that he would get an earful from his father, when this was done.

For now, though, he stood alone outside the Burrow, listening to Spellforged and Marigold. _She's not going to make it,_ he thought. He knew the small voice of his sister, and knew when she lost hope.

 _Not today._

Silently, not wanting to interrupt Spellforged, he sent his magic through the link.

oOoOoOoOo

When he had returned from the Burrow, Seeker had seemed lost in his own thoughts, and Neville Longbottom knew him well enough to not bother him about it. All he did was insist that he come to the greenhouses and help carry tools. It was a task that Seeker could do in his sleep, which was why Neville suggested it - clearly, Harry's mind was elsewhere.

He had his back to his friend when Marigold tried the Goblin healing charm. He did not see Seeker's look of discomfort when he sent magic through the link.

Neville did, however, hear the noise when his friend fell out of his chair. _He must be exhausted,_ thought Neville, as he went over to help.

oOoOoOoOo

Spellforged felt the pulses of magic flow through the link, in that he knew they had happened. But he also knew who they had come from - and where they had gone. Rose's magic had joined Chaser's and Seeker's, though hers came accompanied by grumblings about "bloody gryffindors" or something similar.

With a smile, Spellforged added his own magic to the link.

oOoOoOoOo

For Marigold, her world now consisted of counting to thirty as she pressed her hands onto her friend's chest, and then giving her breath to her friend. And then repeating the process. The weeping mother behind her had fallen away, as had the weeping of Fawkes.

Marigold did not wonder what impact Phoenix Tears might have on Ginny's condition. She had no time for that.

On the thirtieth compression, before she breathed, Marigold placed the palms of her hands on Ginny's chest. Letting her magic pulse once more, she spoke the word Spellforged had given her. " _ **/Belgiseiben./**_ " She ignored Bill's reaction to the Goblin word, as she watched for any sign of life.

Nothing.

Bending down, she tilted Ginny's head back and blew air into her lungs. Then she began compressions again. One… Two… Three…

As she reached thirty again, she felt the magic from the link. It was a blend of all four of her siblings, and the rush of power startled her. Again she placed her palms on Ginny, and again she let her magic pulse - only this time it was not alone.

The magic of the five struck Ginny, who sat up with a gasping breath. Molly screamed at the sight, before wrapping her daughter in a hug.

"Mama," said a weakened Ginny. Molly's response was muffled by her weeping. Bill looked at his diagnostics, and then at Ginny, before collapsing to his knees. Fawkes began to sing a joyful song.

Marigold stepped off of the bed, giving the family some distance. She sat on the floor, her back against her own bed. Her grey eyes were fixed on the shield, still containing the diary. With a shake of her head, she chuckled to herself. The chuckle became a weak laugh, which quickly gave way to sobs. After everything, Marigold Potter closed her eyes and fought to keep herself under control.

She did not open them when she felt someone kneeling beside her, nor when their strong arms wrapping around her. "It's alright, baby girl, it's ok, let go, Mari. I'm here now." Sirius' voice was quiet and soothing, and exactly what she needed at that moment.

Marigold wrapped her arms around Sirius Black and wept.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **To clarify: Yes, Marigold Potter did just pull the Shield of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat. We will, of course, learn more about that later. Marigold was not about to examine the thing - she was in the middle of a battle - nor would she recognize such a relic, as the shield bears little resemblance to the more famous Sword.**

 **(Afterwards, the Sorting Hat was not happy - that shit _hurt._ At least the bloody sword wasn't three bloody feet wide.) **

**The Goblin incantation here is a corruption of the German word _Beleben_ , which Google Translate assures me means "Revive". **

**The CPR used here may or may not be precisely accurate - so for the love of God don't rely on fanfiction to instruct you on lifesaving techniques like that one. It's close enough to get the point across, which was the idea. Now, where did Marigold learn CPR? At the old library in Surrey, probably. When you're interested in a topic, you'll seek out anything you can find about it. More on that later, as well.**

 **This was an emotional chapter to write. It's not going to be what some of you expected. Taking up the challenge of writing a Chamber confrontation without the Basilisk, the Sword, or the Chamber itself, was an opportunity I could not let pass. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	41. Spellforged's Tale

Spellforged stepped out of the floo and into the arms of Molly Weasley. His surprise did not prevent him from pulling her aside, to clear the way for his father.

Molly barely noticed. "Thank you, Harry, thank you." She said, over and over. Spellforged returned the hug, and then stepped back.

"I'm happy to have helped, Mrs. Weasley." he replied. Gesturing to his father, Spellforged broke the hug. "Mrs. Weasley, may I present my father, Director Ragnok of the Clan Ragnok."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes showed her shock - the Goblin King was in her kitchen! She gave Ragnok a formal curtsey. "Director, welcome, we were not expecting you." She said quickly.

Ragnok grinned at her, acknowledging the greeting. "And I apologize for coming unannounced, Madam. Harry was just told a few minutes ago, to be honest." Molly didn't quite know what to make of that - what would bring the Director to her home?

As they had spoken, Arthur Weasley had walked into the kitchen. He shook hands with Spellforged, thanking him again for his actions two days prior. He then gave a deep bow to Ragnok, who nodded in acknowledgement. Arthur then led the pair into the sitting room, where the rest of his children had been assembled.

The Weasley sons all thanked Harry profusely, especially Bill - who got thanked in turn by Harry, who credited him with the actual retrieval of the diary. Percy looked like he would panic when he saw Director Ragnok enter, and Harry was amused to see him straightening his robes. The twins gave both Harry and Ragnok deep bows, and offered Harry their assistance if he ever needed it at Hogwarts.

Ragnok raised an eyebrow at that, for it was obvious exactly what sort of aid they planned to offer. If Harry ever decided to get into more serious pranking, Ragnok knew where he would turn for aid.

Ron bowed to the Director, having seen his brothers and followed their lead. His handshake with Harry was genuine, if a little brief. Of the five, Spellforged was the one who had the least contact with the youngest Weasley son. Even Rose had forged an uneasy acquaintance with him. _Perhaps he's another gryffindor I should get to know,_ he thought.

At the end of the room, sharing a love seat, were Luna and Ginny. Ginny still looked a little pale, and remained seated under a blanket as they approached. Luna sat next to her, one arm around her shoulders. Ginny's face showed how nervous she was, though it was unclear whether she was nervous to be around Harry or the so-called Goblin King.

Luna gave Harry a bright smile, her eyes almost twinkling with mischief. _Uh-oh._

"Ginny," Luna began, "may I present His Highness Ragnok the Third, of the Clan Ragnok, The Wordsmith, Commander of Generals, Bringer of Gold, Marshall of the Legions of the Goblin Nation, Defender of the Faith, and by the Will of the Gods Director of Gringotts, London." Her face cracked into a grin that barely contained her laughter. She ignored the solemn looks on the faces of the Weasleys, none of whom had heard Ragnok's full titles before.

"Or, as Harry calls him, 'Dad'."

Ginny had tried to look as grown-up as possible when Luna announced the Director. Luna's last comment, however, threatened her composure. Harry noticed her fighting the laughter, and decided to upend the moment. He was not quick enough, however, as Ragnok beat him to it.

"You know, it's better than pop-pop."

Just like that, the room broke open with laughter, and it felt like a weight had lifted. It was a healing sound, Ragnok thought, as he joined in. _Which was the point, after all,_ he mused.

oOoOoOoOo

 _Excerpt from the Daily Prophet, 2 August 1983, Morning Edition_

 _ **Boy-Who-Lived Missing!**_

 _ **Muggle Relatives Killed in Explosion**_

 _Muggle residents of Surrey were rocked in the early hours of Monday morning, as a series of explosions tore through a small neighborhood in the town of Little Whinging. According to the muggle authorities, seven houses were completely decimated by the explosions, ending the lives of twenty-seven muggles. Preliminary reports suggest that underground pipes (used to deliver a gas of some sort to the homes) had ruptured, causing explosions in each of the seven adjacent homes._

 _Aurors were on-hand and under glamours, because the explosions seemed to have triggered a massive burst of accidental magic in the area, a burst strong enough to be detected by the Ministry. DMLE sources tell the Prophet that the source of the magic was one of the first houses to burn. By the time the aurors arrived, the residents of that home - muggles Vernon Dursley (29), his wife Petunia Dursley (23), and their son Dudley Dursley (3) - had all been declared dead by muggle first responders._

 _It was only later, on the arrival of Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore, that the full scope of the tragedy became clear. Petunia Dursley was the sister of Lily Potter, formerly Lily Evans - the mother of the boy-who-lived. In an effort to protect the slayer of the Dark Lord, the Chief Warlock sequestered Harry Potter (3) with his muggle relatives. When the fire was contained and aurors could conduct their search, nothing of the boy was found - leading the Chief Warlock to declare the Heir Potter missing._

 _The Chief Warlock's conduct in this matter raises some very hard questions, according to several members of the Wizengamot, which was scheduled to meet in an emergency session today. Minister Bagnold had no comment, except to reiterate that every resource was being deployed to bring Harry Potter back to the magical world, safe and sound._

 _Many of our questions can wait for another day. Today, we ask simply - where is Harry Potter?_

oOoOoOoOo

 _8 August 1983_

Ragnok the Third, son of the Director of Gringotts, London, enjoyed being on the banking floor. Especially in the evenings.

The Muggles had helped out there, for it was their banks that closed before the sun had set, and opened well after breakfast. The wand wavers, even the ones who had never set foot in muggle London, expected the same from Gringotts. So it was that when the clock struck half past five, the wizarding public seemed to vanish from the bank.

Oh, the regulars knew they could come later, and did so. Emergencies happened at all hours, and many a witch and wizard had been pleasantly surprised to find the goblins open in the wee hours, ready to attend to their needs.

It brought no profit to make oneself unavailable to customers. And so, Gringotts stayed open all night. It meant that the junior tellers had the overnight shift every now and then, though there were enough of them to make it only an occasional burden.

The schedule also meant peace and quiet for the Senior manager who volunteered to work the night shift. Ragnok found that he got more done out here, on the floor, than he ever did in his office below.

Ragnok lifted his head from the ledger he had been studying. There was shouting outside the bank. Rising, he signaled for a guard - Zoglok, he thought the goblin's name was - to accompany him. If the situation was just in the alley, he could ignore it - several treaties prohibited the Goblins from performing any sort of law enforcement in the alley, and breaking up a fight would qualify.

Even if the combatants were on the stone steps of the bank, his options were limited - until and unless the offenders set foot in the bank proper. He could not actually tell the guards to execute the offenders until that happened - but most wizards didn't know that, now did they?

Ragnok opened the great doors of the bank, and found a young witch arguing with two uniformed aurors. The woman was growing increasingly agitated at the questioning, and Ragnok noticed that she held her wand in her left hand - and a child in her right. The dark-haired boy was obviously upset, but contained it, as if he expected to be attacked.

 _A child that young should not look so frightened,_ thought Ragnok. The aurors continued to argue with the witch, and one of them took a menacing step forward.

"Oi, step away from me, Hightower, this is my son, not the bleeding boy-who-blew-up. Back off!" The angry witch, her Irish accent thick and heavy, sounded very familiar. Ragnok walked closer to the four, hoping to defuse the situation.

The auror was losing patience. "Miss Sullivan, the boy has dark hair and a scar. You have Harry Potter, and we're going to bring him to the ministry where he belongs!"

"Now, I recognize that voice," said Ragnok as he walked up to the group. Anna Sullivan turned and saw her former boss, and a wave of relief washed over her face. Ragnok just raised an eyebrow at this, before turning his attention to the aurors. "Gentlemen, what can Gringotts do for you this evening?"

The impatient auror seemed to straighten up a bit, gathering himself. "This woman is holding the boy-who-lived, we're going to take them both to the Ministry."

Ragnok eyed the auror. The man's partner seemed uncomfortable with the whole situation, but the senior auror was in charge - and hell bent on taking one of his former analysts in for kidnapping. "I see," said Ragnok. "And what makes you think her two-year-old son is the three-year-old boy-who-lived? Look at the boy, gentlemen, if you would." Ragnok gestured at the boy, and his tiny frame. "I am no expert in human reproduction, but a three-year-old should be, well, bigger, shouldn't it?"

The aurors looked at each other, then back to the goblin. "Sir," said the senior auror. "I'm just following orders."

"Indeed," said Ragnok. "And I thank you, on behalf of Gringotts, for helping to keep Wizarding Britain safe from rampaging children. This one, however, is not your concern."

"But, he looks like the boy, even has the scar!" said the younger auror.

"Glamours, sir. Miss Sullivan has a rather zealous uncle who would prefer to raise her son in a more traditional setting, and she would prefer that he not have cause to do so. Thus, she disguises her son." Ragnok made a show of leaning over the boy. Harry looked up at the old goblin, green eyes meeting black ones. Taking a risk, Ragnok winked at the boy - and got a small smile in return.

Holding his hand in front of him, masking the motion with a complex series of nonsense motions, Ragnok cast his mage sight. On Harry, he saw very little - though there was something about that scar that seemed to defy description, a blackness that faded in and out as if it were both there and not there.

Ragnok turned to the aurors, his mouth opening to give them some nonsense about the quality of the glamours she had used on the boy, and how it's usually safe to mimic the dark hair and green eyes of the boy-who-lived, as the books had grown quite popular. His genial comments died in his throat when he glanced at the aurors.

Both had a miasma of dark magic on their left forearm. _The Dark Mark,_ he realized _. No wonder Miss Sullivan is intent on entering the bank._

Gathering himself, Ragnok addressed the aurors. "Well, gentlemen, as I said, it appears that Mister Sullivan here is under a glamour, which unfortunately makes him look like the missing Potter boy. I imagine that she will choose a more appropriate disguise in the future, won't you Miss Sullivan?"

Anna Sullivan saw Ragnok's play, and did her part. "Of course, sir. We just arrived in country, and had not seen the prophet - and, when we travel, he likes to pretend to be Harry Potter, off on his next adventure!" The aurors did not seem amused.

"So you see, Master Auror Hightower, that you have no cause to detain Miss Sullivan here, yes?" While still focusing on the child, Ragnok's eyes met those of the guard, who nodded slightly. Both goblins had seen the same thing.

"I must insist." said Hightower, his voice filling with menace.

Ragnok turned and looked at him, appraising him as only as goblin could. Then he nodded. "Very well, sir. Why don't we take Miss Sullivan to a meeting room while we have the boy checked over. We can, of course, verify his identity for you, which may save you some embarrassment at the DMLE. You don't want to bring in the wrong child, do you?"

The aurors looked at each other once more. "That will work. Lead the way, boy."

Ragnok ignored the insult, though he did see Zoglok's hand tighten on his axe. Straightening, he nodded to the aurors. "Very well, let us proceed." He saw the worry return to Anna's face, and gave her a reassuring nod. She relaxed, trusting her old boss.

Waving a hand to the great doors of the bank, Ragnok invited the aurors to enter first, walking just behind Zoglok. As they passed the threshold, both aurors gripped their arms and fell forward, unconscious - the wards had done their job, once Zoglok activated them. Ragnok and Zoglok were kicking their wands away before three more guards could get to their group.

"Death eaters," said Ragnok, by way of explanation. "Miss Sullivan, when did they approach you?"

"Just now, in the alley." She was starting to shake a little. "Oh my God…"

"Yes, quite, but now we have things to do." She was still staring at the downed death eaters, holding Harry a little closer to her. Ragnok stepped into her line of sight, looking up at her. "Anna, we need to go."

She nodded, after a moment. "Alright."

"And these two?" asked Zoglok, nodding toward the 'aurors'. The other guards had searched them both by this point, and the only auror badges found were worthless pieces of metal, bearing none of the enchantments that the genuine articles carried.

It was a more creative ploy than Ragnok would have expected from the death eaters who lingered after the end of the war. Unfortunately for them, they had underestimated the Goblins.

"These wizards wore the garb and authority of aurors when they entered the bank under arms to kidnap one of my employees." said Ragnok, coldly. "It matters not that they are false aurors - the treaties are clear. Kill them or cage them, as you like." Walking to the fallen wizards, Ragnok held a hand out to them, bending his fingers in a strange pattern. " _Interdictus_." A soft golden glow encompassed the death eaters, before fading to a dull brass color and vanishing. In the morning, there would be parchment work, of course, but for now magic had sealed the mens' vaults and declared them forfeit.

It was one of the few spells that had the same incantation among both Goblin and wizard. Since wizards lacked vaults to seal, however, it was rarely used among the wand wavers.

Ragnok stood there for another moment, looking down at the terrorists on his floor. Then he spat at them, lamenting the fact that the insult was lost on the unconscious men. Turning, he led Anna and her charge to his offices.

oOoOoOoOo

 _16 April 1986_

"Father, can I ask a question?"

Ragnok looked at Harry Spellforged, sitting next to Madam Sullivan on the couch in his office. The boy was wearing the finest robes he had ever seen, proudly displaying the twin crests of House Potter and Clan Ragnok, against a shield in dark blue with green - the Sullivan tartan.

With a smile, Ragnok turned his head toward his son, the movement annoying the attendants who were trying to fit him with his own ceremonial armor. The gold plate was a throwback to the days of Goblin uprisings and conflicts, but during the ceremony it would be a symbol of continuity. The rich cloak, the jeweled axe, the open helm - each held a special place in the minds of his people.

Other branches of Gringotts did things differently, honoring or eschewing tradition to various degrees. Gringotts London hewed to tradition, where possible.

" _May_ I ask, Harry." Ragnok replied. The smile on Madam Sullivan's face told the Director-designate that he had beaten her to the correction by only moments.

Harry shared their amusement. "Yes, sir, _may_ I ask a question?"

"Always." was the response.

"Why did you adopt me, sir?"

Ragnok's eyes went wide, and met Anna's - finding the same reaction there. Harry knew his story, by this point, in at least the broad details. He knew of his parents - all four of them, by birth and adoption - and knew why it was so. This, it seemed, was a deeper question. Anna and Ragnok had discussed, at length, how to answer some of Harry's inevitable questions. This, however, was not one they had prepared for. Not this early, at any rate.

 **/Please give me a moment with my son,/** said Ragnok. The three attendants shared glances at the tone of his voice, but complied. Once the door closed behind them, Ragnok walked over to the couch. Moving carefully in the ceremonial armor, he sat down on the coffee table, bringing himself to eye level with Harry. Their eyes met, father and son, as Ragnok considered his response. Finally, he spoke.

"Harry, there are two reasons. When your mother brought you here, at first I just wanted to protect you from harm. She asked me to help her, and I agreed - your mother and I have known each other for years, and I trusted her. Still do, come to think of it." At this, he gave Madam Sullivan a grin, earning an eye roll.

"You know that your Grandpa Ragnok was in charge of all the Goblins in Britain, yes?" Harry nodded. "Well, I went to him and asked him to help as well. Your mother had worked for the bank for a long time, I said, and had earned our respect. Grandpa agreed, but didn't want to make the wizards angry."

"That's cause of the wars, in old timey times?" asked Harry. Anna and Ragnok both chuckled at the description.

"Yes, Harry, because of the old timey times. See, wizards and goblins argued a lot in those days, and sometimes they hurt each other. So one day they wrote up a set of rules, and those rules tell the wizards what they can do to or for the goblins, and what the goblins can do to or for the wizards. And for hundreds of years, we have gotten along." Ragnok looked intently at Harry. "Your Grandpa loved you very much, but he was the Director - he had to think of all the goblins, not just his favorites like you." Harry grinned at the memory - for truly, Ragnok's father, the previous Director, had loved his only grandson.

"It was about a month after you and your mother came here," continued Ragnok, his smile falling a bit, "that we learned about something the bad wizards had planned. Before you and Papa James and Mama Lily stopped the bad wizard, he wanted to get his hands on more galleons. He thought that if he had more galleons, he could hurt more people. So he planned to attack the bank."

Harry's eyes were wide in shock. "But no one has ever attacked the bank!" He was upset at the very idea - to him, it would be like attacking the Sullivan house. This was home.

"Not as it is now, no. But if he had, many goblins would have gotten hurt." Ragnok tapped Harry on the nose. "But then your family stopped the bad wizard, and no one came around to attack us. You protected the Nation, Harry, you and your mama and papa."

"Now, when I found out that the bad wizards wanted to hurt us, I was pretty mad. And so was your Grandpa. But he said something that stuck with me. He told me that we all owed you a life debt." Ragnok smiled again. "You remember your lessons, don't you?"

"Yes sir. A Life Debt means that someone got themselves hurt, or could've, to protect someone else." Harry's eyes grew wide. "But you, I don't…"

Ragnok placed his hands on his son's. "Magic thought that you did. Madam Sullivan agreed. So I went to Grandpa and said that I would pay the Life Debt we owed to your family by adopting you as my son." He squeezed Harry's hands. "Son, remember the rules we have with the wizards? One thing they can't do anything about is life debts. They might try to keep me from adopting you, and some did - but no one, not even Merlin or Grok'Nargh the Bold, could keep a Goblin from repaying a life debt. That debt meant that you could be my son."

Harry considered this. He still seemed upset, and both Anna and Ragnok saw that across his features. Ragnok leaned closer, speaking quietly.

"Harry Spellforged, listen to me. I told you there were two reasons, remember? One is that adopting you would help you and your mother." Another squeeze. "The other is because I love you, great big."

"But you owed me, 'cause of the debt…" The worry came out in Harry's voice, now.

"No, Harry. Never forget this - life debts are tools, nothing more. They bring balance, because they help us heal the hurt that caused the debt in the first place. You lost your mama and papa when your family helped me. I used the debt to help give you a mother and a father, both of whom love you very very much." Anna Sullivan's arm, wrapped around her son's shoulder, gave him a half hug as he considered that. Ragnok kept his hands on his son's, and his eyes on the worry etched in his son's face.

Harry looked up. "I love you too, father." Then the boy surged forward, wrapping the Director-designate in a bear hug. Anna laughed at the sight, as Ragnok tried desperately to hug his son and keep his armor intact. Then it was Anna's turn for a hug, as Ragnok stood and began adjusting his ceremonial garb.

"Now, come on Harry," said Anna Sullivan, smoothing out her formal robes and doing the same for her son. "We need to take our seats. It's not every day your father gets crowned as the Goblin King!" She said it with a snicker, and delighted at the laugh from her son. The pair only laughed harder when Ragnok began muttering under his breath at the title.

Both saw the grin his face. Both knew how happy he was when he heard the laughter coming from Harry.

oOoOoOoOo

 _29 December 1992_

Late afternoon saw most of the Weasley boys heading out into the brisk winter air for a flight around the snow-covered quidditch pitch. Ginny and Luna remained, as did Molly and Arthur. Bill, too, stayed behind, sensing that the conversation would center on the events surrounding the diary.

"Ginny," began Spellforged. "How are you feeling, really?"

Ginny looked up at Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, and shook her head. "Been better," she said quietly. "I'm so sorry, Harry…" she began, only to stop when Harry waved a hand at her.

"Miss Weasley, there is nothing to be sorry for." He nodded to Bill. "Your brother can tell you, stronger wizards than either of us have been ensnared by dark artifacts like that one. It's not your fault."

Ragnok chose to speak up, at this point. "Madam Weasley, has your daughter been seen by the healers?"

Molly and Arthur shared a glance, before Mister Weasley spoke. "They seemed to think that she had the symptoms of exhaustion, and that she should rest for a week or so, and she would be fine."

That got a nod from the Director. "They're probably right. Did they recommend a mind healer as well? If not, we work with several who would probably suit young Miss Weasley's needs."

Another shared look. "Sir, the healers from Saint Mungo's said nothing about mind healers. Do we really need one if they didn't think we would?" Arthur sounded concerned, as if he felt like he was missing a piece of the puzzle.

"Mister Weasley," began Harry. "Ginny was speaking with an artifact that held the memories and personality of a student from Hogwarts - one we know to have killed at least one student and framed another for the crime. Having that sort of person in your head, for months? No sir, that won't heal in a week." Now it was Harry who looked to his father, before giving the Director a nod.

The Director took up the thread. "I know that William and I met with the Headmaster yesterday, and that he then came here to visit. Did he mention anything about a mind healer for your daughter? Perhaps one who would meet with her at Hogwarts, when the new term begins?"

Molly continued to look troubled. "He seemed to think that meeting a mind healer at school would single her out among her peers, and that the summer would be the best time to look into that sort of thing."

"Indeed," said Ragnok. Harry met his eyes, and gave him another nod. "Very well, then." Ragnok stood, and only his raised hand kept Bill from standing as well. Arthur saw Bill's eyes, and the surprise in them - he somehow knew what the Director was going to do.

"Arthur Weasley, head of House Weasley, magic tells me that a life debt exists between your house and Clan Ragnok. As the head of Clan Ragnok, I call on you to acknowledge the debt." The Director's words were formal, almost as if part of a ritual - which, as it turned out, they were.

The color drained from Arthur's face, but he stood anyway. Gathering his Gryffindor courage, he raised his wand - the first wizard to raise his wand to the Director of Gringotts in quite some time. "Ragnok, of the Clan Ragnok, I acknowledge the debt between our houses. I invite you to name your terms."

Molly stifled her cry. This is old magic, magic that could bind Ginny to the goblins, or to Harry, against her will. She hoped that Harry would not take such a step, but he was as much goblin as wizard - she was not comfortable with the idea that she had no idea what he, or his father, would do.

Ginny, for her part, looked frightened. One of Tom's favorite tools was the idea that, somehow, Ginny owed it to him to do as she was told. The fact that she did not, and knew in her heart that she did not, wasn't enough to escape his control. As she gathered herself to stand up, she felt a hand grasping her by the arm. Looking over, she saw Luna.

"Trust Harry, Ginny. Please." Luna's eyes looked intently into Ginny's, and Ginny found herself surprised at the intensity of the gaze. This was Luna - she could always trust Luna, right? Ginny found herself nodding.

Harry now stood. The debt was to his Clan, but ran through him. The terms were his to set, though he and his father had discussed them at length.

"First," began Harry. "You will visit with a mind healer once every week, or in accordance with a schedule they shall establish with you and your parents. After six months, you may meet with them once monthly. After three years, you will meet with them at such intervals as may be mutually agreed between yourself and the healer." He looked at her parents. "Your parents will make arrangements with Professor McGonagall to provide for those meetings to continue at school."

Harry Spellforged described the payment, but it was Director Ragnok who explained the rationale. He addressed himself to Ginny. "Speak with a mind healer, Miss Weasley. Do what they tell you to do. Allow them to aid you. I promise, they will help you in ways you cannot anticipate now, when the injury is fresh."

Ginny nodded to the Director, and then to her parents. "I… I can do that."

"Good," said Harry. "That will help you with your second task." He smiled at her, to take the edge off the phrasing. "You will remain at Hogwarts, or a comparable school of your choosing, until you have earned your NEWTs or the equivalent."

Ginny looked puzzled at that, for she had planned nothing else. One glance told her that her parents did not understand, either.

Again Director Ragnok explained. "You were traumatized, Miss Weasley. It happened at Hogwarts, in the halls you will once again call home in a week. It may come to pass that the memories of what happened become overwhelming." He smiled at her, offering a look of sympathy. "If that ends up being the case, you will have the chance to continue your schooling elsewhere. You need not worry about being admitted to your chosen school, as it is possible that I know a few people here and there." This last, said with a smile, earned a giggle from Luna. Ginny smiled at the sound, before nodding to the Director.

Arthur and Molly looked at each other. Other than the costs for the mind healer, nothing in those requirements was a problem. Both worried that there would be a catch somewhere. "And your third requirement, Mister Spellforged?" asked Arthur, formally.

Harry grinned. "You will direct your chosen mind healer, Hogwarts, and whatever other school you select, if and when, to bill Clan Ragnok for any costs they may incur on your behalf. This is to include tuition, by the way. If Ginny should seek a Mastery, that would be considered tuition as well, under this requirement."

Director Ragnok smiled at the shocked faces on Arthur and Molly Weasley. "If school becomes a challenge, some might find it easier to use cost as an excuse to flee. Clan Ragnok will not tolerate any attempt to plead poverty as part of an attempt to renege on this debt. Honor demands that the debt be satisfied - this requirement ensures that."

"Wait a minute," said Bill, speaking for the first time. "You're enforcing a life debt, and using it to force my sister to go to school and speak to a mind healer? And you are bearing the cost for that?" He looked from Harry to the Director. "Why?"

Ragnok answered him. "Life debts exist to restore balance." Once again he nodded toward Ginny. "Your sister very nearly had her whole future taken from her. These requirements guarantee that she will avoid that fate."

Bill looked at his sister, and saw Luna smiling back at him. _Luna?_ "Wouldn't Ginny owe a life debt to Luna as well? It was her intervention that brought you here, after all."

"Oh, she did." answered Luna. "But I don't want to have Ginny in debt to me, so I sold the debt to Harry." She smiled at the look of shock on Arthur and Molly's face.

Harry chuckled at her expression, before looking at the elder Weasleys. "One person can't have two life debts for the same event, so Luna basically cancelled her debt. Once I explained what we were asking for, she agreed it was a better deal than anything she might have requested." Harry gave Luna a bright grin, which she returned. "Best knut I ever spent."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **A long one, and a bit of a breather after the intensity of the previous chapters. I've seen the Life Debt from the diary rescue used to bind Ginny to menial servitude, or to a harem (willingly or unwillingly, and bothersome either way). I've seen them used to force a separation between some version of stalker!Ginny and Harry. I've even seen one fic where Harry used the Life Debt to literally claim Ginny's life - standing there and watching her tearfully say goodbye to her family before falling over dead minutes later. Suffice to say, I have concerns. Once I mentioned Life Debts in Spellforged's backstory, it seemed like a natural fit here, where we discuss Ginny's debt.**

 **Ultimately, it comes down to the fact that Harry is the one calling the debt - and while he is not close to Ginny here, his counterparts are. So he used the debt to aid her, and set the tone for them to do the same in their worlds (using the resources of the Peregrine Trust and our Mister Fitzgerald).**

 **Each of the five will have a backstory chapter like this one - and indeed, Marigold's was the third chapter of the work (and the first solo chapter, without the others). This one gives some needed context to events mentioned previously, and lays a bit of ground work for the future.**

 **Ragnok's titles are a big piece of that ground work. Each is granted as part of the ceremony where Ragnok ascends to become Director. "Commander of Generals" sounds like a military title, but is actually the title given by the Elders of the Goblin Nation - one of whom is our friend, the Lady Eridani. "T** **he Wordsmith" is a title given by the leaders of the Clans, Ragnok's peers. Ever seen Ragnok at a negotiating table? "** **The Bringer of Gold" is a traditional title, since the Goblins got into banking. "** **Marshall of the Legions" is a traditional title as well, as the Director is the Commander in Chief of whatever forces the Goblins muster (less now than in centuries past, obviously). "** **Defender of the Faith" is a traditional title in the UK, and refers to the treaty between Gringotts and the Crown. It hints at some level of delegated authority, just as one might expect between the Ministry and the Crown, except that here it is more than merely theoretical.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	42. A Bastion against the Darkness

Marigold Potter woke up to a quiet tune being hummed. She knew she had heard it before, but could not place the melody. Sitting up in her bed, she stretched tiredly, rubbing the moisture from her eyes. Blinking, she looked around - and found Sirius Black sitting in a chair, reading the Daily Prophet.

The humming stopped. "'Morning, golden girl." said her godfather.

"'Morning, Padfoot," she replied, continuing her stretching. "What was that song?"

Sirius folded the newspaper, and stood. "Just an old song I heard somewhere. Got stuck in my head, you know?"

Marigold nodded. "I know how that works." She stood as well, eyeing the bathroom. Sirius chuckled when he saw the look, and made his way to the door.

"Breakfast in twenty, Mari. Don't forget, you have a train to catch."

"I know, I know." she muttered, as she entered the bathroom. She did not hear her godfather's laugh at how like Lily she had sounded, in that moment.

After the attack on Ginny, everyone had decided that staying at the Burrow would have been too much. Ginny was recovering well, but her mind healer had suggested that sharing a room with Marigold - particularly that room, where the attack took place - might cause either or both of the girls to have a panic attack. So Ginny had moved to Charlie's old room, and Marigold had gone to 12 Grimmauld Place with Sirius.

In all the excitement, no one bothered to check with Marigold on her living arrangements - so no one questioned the fact that Sirius kept watch over her, despite his custody not being finalized.

It had been a relaxing week - just what she needed after the battle with the shade of Tom Riddle - or, as they now knew him, the young Lord Voldemort.

oOoOoOoOo

During the last conference between the five, the night before they returned to school for the new term, Rose had been absolutely livid. She knew that Ginny still had her diary, and knew that there would be further attacks in her version of Hogwarts. Beyond those facts, though, she had no leads and no intelligence on how those attacks would happen.

From the brief conversations Marigold had had with Ginny, they knew that the diary forced her to physically enter the Chamber of Secrets to summon a basilisk. They knew that the basilisk had been in some form of stasis since the 40's, and that it now merely slept until it became hungry. How often it needed to feed, and where it did so, were questions Ginny could not answer.

Nor could she describe where the Chamber of Secrets actually was. That knowledge had been carefully kept from her mind, presumably to keep anyone from learning it if the diary became compromised.

Tom had bragged about killing a student; perhaps the records would hint at who had died in 1943 - and, perhaps more importantly, where the body had been found. Everything was a clue, at this point.

Spellforged hoped that the Chamber was the same in each world. It would not do to find it in one world and meet a dead end in another. The others could tell that he still worried about the basilisk.

"I'm not worried about the basilisk by itself, I'm worried about a thousand-year-old basilisk that no longer has a master." Spellforged had explained. "The diary, through Ginny, was keeping it contained and in control. It had to be, or else we would have had Slytherin's beast roaming the halls indiscriminately. The fact that the diary could target specific people just adds to the case - the basilisk was under control."

Seeker's voice was quiet when it came over the link. "And now it's not. You think it will attack?"

"If it can get out of the chamber, yes. Yes I do." Spellforged replied.

"Bloody buggering hell," said Chaser. "They should close the school."

"Probably," said Seeker. "But you know they won't."

"No, they won't." replied Chaser. "Auntie says that the board is agitating for Dumbledore to be removed as Headmistress. Lord Malfoy is behind it, or so she thinks." He paused, considering the situation. "Malfoy's probably doing much the same in your worlds."

"And while they play their games, they risk our lives when they know that there is a threat." Marigold's voice had an edge on it, this night.

"That raises a good point," said Rose. "Do we know how Ginny got the diary? Marigold, you were staying with the Weasleys after the shopping trip, did you see anything?"

She considered the question. "I don't remember seeing Ginny with the diary until after the fight in the bookstore." She remembered Malfoy tossing some books back into one of the Weasley's cauldrons. Could it have been Ginny's?

Rose had been thinking along the same lines. "Malfoy causes the attacks, using the daughter of a political rival, and takes advantage of a seat on the board to move against Dumbledore? I can see it happening that way."

"Daphne said that Draco knew something about what would happen," said Seeker.

"So, we have a suspect," said Chaser, in his best Aunt Amelia impression.

"Don't let Madam Bones hear you talk like that," replied Spellforged, causing the others to laugh.

oOoOoOoOo

The great hall had been quieter than expected, though none of the five could point to a specific reason. The fact that it had been unusually cold that day, causing the Express to run a little slower than normal, may have been a factor. They did not think it was the attack before the holidays, though most students were still in denial that there was a threat.

That did not stop the whispers, of course. Seeker knew that the eyes of the school were still on him, as they feared the unknown threat of the Heir. He knew that the threat was real - it just wasn't the threat that everyone suspected. By capturing the diary, they had traded the active malice of a teenaged Voldemort for the untamed fury of an out-of-control beast. It was the best play they had, and none of them doubted what the result might have been if they allowed Ginny to keep the artifact. Marigold had seen what might have been, and the others had been right there with her.

After the feast, Seeker found himself summoned to the Headmaster's office. He asked Professor McGonagall to accompany him as his head of house, a request she agreed to immediately.

To Harry's surprise, Headmaster Dumbledore was not alone in his office. "Hello, Bill," said Seeker, with a grin. Bill Weasley smiled at him in return. Harry and Professor McGonagall each took their seats.

After greetings were exchanged, Dumbledore got right to the point. "I'd like to applaud your generosity, Mister Potter, in offering your assistance to Miss Weasley and her parents. I know they appreciate it."

"Of course, sir, thank you. I know how helpful speaking to a therapist can be, and wanted to make sure that Ginny missed as little of her classes as possible."

Dumbledore nodded. "Well, you did the right thing. She should only miss a week or so, if her parents are right about her progress. And I think they are." He idly tapped a finger on his desk, as if trying to figure out how to proceed. "I do wonder, though, how you knew that she was in the process of being possessed?"

The five had talked about the answer to that question. The consensus came down to offering as much truth as possible, and letting the Headmaster fill in the blanks.

"Sir," began Harry. "It wasn't one thing, exactly. She seemed to be unusually quiet over the last term, to the point of ignoring some of her friends from before she came to Hogwarts. But that's not evidence of anything other than the transition to life in the castle, sir. What got me was that she continued to isolate herself at the Burrow, as well." He paused, looking thoughtful. "One night before Christmas, I saw her writing in an old diary, and asked about it. She got very nervous, running off and hiding from me. That got me truly worried."

"When Harry sent me an owl, asking about how Ginny was doing, I started to notice the signs as well. I didn't know that it was the diary, mind, but I did know that there was something going on." Bill sighed. "I wish I had seen it earlier."

"No, I think you both did well to see it at all. Her brothers all saw her daily, and missed most of the signs that you two picked up. So, well done, both of you." The headmaster gave one of his grandfatherly smiles. "I daresay you saved her life. For that, you should be proud."

"We are sir, thank you." said Harry. Bill nodded as well.

"Mister Weasley, what do you know about the diary?" asked the Headmaster.

Bill shrugged. "We know that it appears to be an ordinary diary, of the kind muggles might have used in the 1930's or 40's. That's consistent with the name on the cover." He nodded toward a letter on the Headmaster's desk, drawing Seeker's eyes to the Gringotts seal. "The goblins will be bringing in some experts from Egypt to have a look at it. The magic was dark enough to make anyone cautious. Hopefully, we will know more once they do their work."

Harry picked up from there. "We do have some guesses about the diary's origin, though. There was a Tom Marvolo Riddle who attended Hogwarts as a slytherin during that time. He was even Head Boy in his seventh year. There is an award for services to the school hanging in the trophy room with his name on it."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "I remember the incident. Tom caught a student with an acromantula, and accused him of opening the Chamber of Secrets and killing another student. The boy was expelled and his wand snapped."

"Hagrid still keeps the pieces in his umbrella, I believe, Headmaster." said Harry, watching for a reaction. He got it, in the look of shock on the Headmaster's face. Harry continued, not waiting for the inevitable question about how exactly he knew that it had been Hagrid who was expelled. "Sir, if Tom Riddle was involved in stopping the attacks, and now Tom Riddle's diary was attempting to continue them, wouldn't it make more sense if Tom Riddle was the true attacker?"

Dumbledore nodded, still recovering. "That may well be, Mister Potter." He looked to Bill. "If the diary proves to be capable of that level of control, and it is safely out of the school, then it would seem that the attacks are at an end."

Harry looked uncomfortable. He shared a look at Bill, who nodded. "Um, sir, that may not be the case, actually."

"Oh?"

"Well, we think the Basilisk may still be a threat." said Harry. "If the diary woke it up, but didn't put it back in stasis or sleep or whatever it was in for a thousand years, then eventually it will wonder why its master has not returned. After that, it will begin to get hungry."

Bill spoke up. "There's a risk that the basilisk will try to enter the school again, only this time it won't be under anyone's control."

Dumbledore looked from one to the other, before nodding. "Then, it seems we will need to find the Chamber of Secrets."

oOoOoOoOo

Initially, Marigold's meeting with the Headmaster had gone in much the same way as Seeker's, as had Spellforged's and Chaser's. In each, they discussed the threat and that there was still a bloody great basilisk lurking in the shadows. In each, the Headmaster promised to find the Chamber before the attacks could resume, and asked that any information they find be given to him without delay.

Spellforged worried that this was the Headmaster patting them on the head and saying that he would handle it. Rose agreed, but reminded them that there was the problem of the Board of Governors as well. The Headmaster running about, looking for the fabled Chamber of Secrets, would win him no support among the board. He would have to play the situation cautiously, as he seemed to be doing.

As long as "cautious" did not equal "whenever I get to it," there was little to worry about. But worry they would, of course.

Marigold's meeting was the most interesting toward its end. When she walked into the Headmaster's office, he and Bill Weasley were examining what she now knew was the Shield of Gryffindor.

When Bill tried to retrieve the diary, the shield had closed itself around the artifact. Lifting it by the leather straps, Bill had watched as the metal dome bent even further, forming a metal orb encasing the diary. He had delivered it to Gringotts in that form, where it had taken three curse breakers over an hour to coax the shield into opening again. After that, he had convinced them to bring it back to Hogwarts - and had been surprised when they agreed.

Now, as it sat on the Headmaster's desk, it was back to its 'normal' shape - a flat disk with a gleaming metal boss at its center. Marigold was interested by the fact that the boss had returned to its simple metal dome shape, rather than the fierce blade that had pierced the diary and held it in place.

Once they had discussed Ginny's recovery and the remaining threat of the basilisk, the Headmaster turned his attention to the shield. "I was at a meeting of the ICW, nowhere near my office, when Bill called for help. It is fortunate indeed that Fawkes heard the call and responded." He glanced across his office at the sorting hat. "And that the hat was able to provide such timely aid." He turned his gaze to Marigold. "Only a true Gryffindor would have been able to pull one of Godric Gryffindor's artifacts from the sorting hat."

Bill continued to examine the shield. "I had heard of the Sword of Gryffindor, but never the shield."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair. "It's a very old tale, Mister Weasley. What I find interesting is that Gryffindor very rarely wielded the shield that bore his name." he tapped the gleaming metal. "No, the shield was mostly ceremonial, gifted by a powerful wizard in thanks for Gryffindor's aid. You see, the famous Sword is properly wielded with both hands, so a shield such as this would not work with the sword that Godric carried."

Marigold looked down at the shield, watching as Bill turned it over to examine the interior side of the artifact. "Then, why would the hat bring this, instead of the Sword or something else that might help?" She looked over at the hat, and shrugged her shoulders. "No offense, um, Mister Hat."

The Sorting Hat seemed to huff a bit, but said nothing.

"That, I cannot say, Miss Potter." answered the Headmaster.

"Perhaps I can," said Bill, leaning close to the shield. "There seems to be writing here."

Dumbledore and Marigold stood, and attempted to get a look. Dumbledore conjured a large magnifying glass, allowing all three to see the tiny etchings. Between the two straps, etched into the metal, was an engraving of some sort.

"I've seen this before," said Bill, confusion in his voice. "I think it's an early form of Arabic."

"Really? Fascinating," added the Headmaster. "Do you know what it says?"

Bill was already copying down the engraving onto a piece of parchment. When he was done, he got out his wand and cast a spell - and the three watched intently as the words rearranged themselves on the page. The process was eerily similar to the way the diary had used her own writing to spew its poison. Marigold kept herself from shuddering, but only just.

Once the words formed, the three read them in silence. And then they shared looks at what they had learned.

Bill spoke first. "Everything we thought we knew..." he said, quietly. "I know at least three scholars who would burn their libraries to see this." He pointed to the date. "And that year, wasn't that…?"

"It was indeed," Dumbledore replied, just as quietly. "It was a long time ago. Clearly, much has changed."

"Not as much as you think," said Marigold, thinking no one heard. She did not see the smile on Dumbledore's face at her words.

Marigold thought about Seeker's efforts to bridge the divide between houses, and about Rose's success with the same endeavor. The fact that Seeker approached it with subtlety worthy of a slytherin, while Rose charged in with her study group like a gryffindor still amused her. _If they could see this,_ she thought to herself. _Merlin, this could change everything._

Her eyes went back to the translation, wondering what the others would make of it.

 _For my Brother, Godric.  
_ _Always be a Bastion against the Darkness.  
_ _For they are all our children. Guard them well.  
_ _Salazar Slytherin, 1037_

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **As I've said to several reviewers, I'm aiming for a "Complex and Nuanced" Salazar Slytherin, rather than simply writing an apologia for him. I reject the idea that three of the Founders were close, and then they brought in some other asshole who wore green, spouted bigoted views on blood purity, and had a dubious relationship with Dark magic just to make things interesting. Whatever happened later, the four Founders had to be close initially, or else the whole concept of Hogwarts wouldn't have worked at all.**

 **There's a reason that Salazar wrote that inscription. There's a reason he did so in Arabic. We know he spent quite a long time in that part of the world, so perhaps this hints at a Slytherin who decided to go back to his roots, so to speak, once he left the school. Beyond that, all we have is hearsay - Remus could recite only what scholars believed, for example. Why he fled, and what happened next, are topics for another day.**

 **As of this writing, we have 256 Favorites and 416 Follows, alongside 240 Reviews. The little chart in my dashboard says that this story has generated over 58,000 views - which staggers me. Simply amazing. Thank you all for your support.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	43. Replacements and Regrets

The first hint Chaser had that something had changed came at lunch on Monday, the first day of classes for the term.

The welcoming feast had been largely spent worrying about the meeting with Dumbledore. Most of the questions about Ginny's absence ended up going to Ron and his brothers, all of whom repeated the line that "she was still recovering from an illness, and would be back in a week or so, and really we don't do much the first week back anyway so who cares?" A few of the lions remained curious, of course, but most simply asked the boys to tell their sister to get well soon.

Susan pulled him aside after the feast, and asked if he knew where Professor Lockhart had been during the meal. Chaser shrugged - embarrassed that he had not noticed the professor's absence. As he waited for Professor McGonagall, he consulted with the link, only to learn that the Defense professor had been in attendance at the feast in the other four worlds. In each, he had been chatting up Professor Vector once again, while she politely ignored him as much as possible.

But the man's absence did not worry Chaser for long, as he had other things to deal with.

The Gryffindor second years would not see Lockhart until their afternoon defense class on Tuesday, the second day of term. Hufflepuff, on the other hand, had their double Defense class with Ravenclaw on Monday mornings. Harry found himself curious about what Lockhart would have them doing. Would it be more of the same nonsense, his brief attack of conscience lost in his usual vanity and arrogance? Or would they see the Lockhart from the dueling club, who had realized that his job had real consequences?

Harry was convinced that the man wanted to change. There had been something about him, that night, something that suggested a man who wanted to own up to his mistakes. He had no idea how right he was.

At lunchtime, Susan sat down next to Hermione at the Gryffindor table, across from Ron and Harry. She was all smiles, which puzzled Harry and Ron, as they knew she had just come from Defense.

"Good afternoon, Susan," said Harry. She looked at him, and her grin got even bigger. She knew something.

"Hi Harry," she replied, making herself a sandwich.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. "Ummm," began Ron, "How was Lockhart today?"

Susan positively beamed at him. "I can honestly say that it was the best Defense class I've ever had.."

Harry had to set his fork down. "Really?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely." Susan confirmed, taking a drink of her juice. "The Professor did ask me to tell you to see him during your free period this afternoon."

Now Harry was really confused. "We haven't even had class yet this term, what would he need from me?" He doubted that Lockhart would want to draw attention to whatever he had discussed with Mister Fitzpatrick, if he had reached out to the solicitor at all. Even if Harry had seen Mister Fitzpatrick over the holiday (which he hadn't), he was too good a solicitor to reveal whether or not he had even spoken to Lockhart.

Susan chuckled. "He didn't say, but I can guess."

"What is it, then?" asked Hermione.

Now Susan turned to her, still grinning. "It's probably family business or something."

Despite their best efforts, they could not pry the information out of their friend. She even withstood her fellow hufflepuff Hannah Abbott, who seemed to know something of her own but spent lunch trying to talk Susan into revealing what she knew. Nothing.

So it was that a very confused Harry Potter made his way up to the Defense classroom, wondering exactly what the deal was with Professor Lockhart. A knock on the door, and the Professor responded.

"Come in!"

Chaser opened the door and stepped into the classroom, only to be confronted with the last person he ever expected to see.

"Dad?"

oOoOoOoOo

James Potter grinned at his son. "Hello, Harry."

Chaser closed the door behind him, still trying to work out what his father was doing at Hogwarts. "I'm supposed to meet with the Defense professor, or at least that's what Susan told me."

"Well," said James, "Today's your lucky day."

Harry set his bag on a desk in the front row. "No way."

That got a laugh. "Yes, way."

"Seriously?"

"No, my son," James replied, gesturing to a chair. "Sirius is too busy, so they had to settle for me."

Once the Potters settled down, James began to explain what had happened. During the pre-term staff meeting on Sunday, as the students were boarding the Express for the journey back to Hogwarts, an elf had delivered a letter of resignation from one Gilderoy Lockhart. He cited health concerns and personal matters that demanded his attention, but made a point to thank the Board and his now former colleagues for the wonderful opportunity. The Headmistress had been surprised, to say the least, and had reached out to the DMLE for another Auror substitute.

"Your Aunt Amelia was not happy," continued James. "Two years in a row, the Defense professor leaves early, and she has to send one of her aurors to the castle to fill in." He held up a hand, anticipating Chaser's reply. "Yes, yes, I know, this time the professor in question actually survived his tenure."

"Good thing," said Chaser, with a grin that matched his father's. Then the grin faded. "But why did Professor Lockhart leave, then?"

James looked at his son for a moment, considering his response. Then he pulled a letter out of his robes. "He didn't say. But Mister Fitzgerald said he received this letter from Lockhart, addressed to you specifically." He looked over his glasses at Harry. "I need to know, did you have something to do with Professor Lockhart leaving?"

Harry had opened the letter, and did not answer his father's question. From what he saw, though, it was clear that he had indeed had a hand in what had happened. The fact that Lockhart had written him at all was a testament to that - and the length of the letter was proof as well.

 _Mister Potter,_

 _As you will have learned by now, I've resigned from Hogwarts._

 _You'll recall our conversation last December, I hope. We talked about the various books on sale in Britain, each claiming to tell our stories. With yours, as you said, everyone knew them to be fiction. With mine, on the other hand, no one really did._

 _I did travel the world, seeing magical places that would dazzle your mind, places of such beauty as to steal the breath from you. And I saw such magnificent beasts, magical animals so grand that no one could hope to properly tame them. The stories I told were my own, embellished and altered and obscured. But every story was based on the accounts of some poor wizard who actually lived the tale. That they became my stories in the telling is my shame - one that you saw on full display._

 _You were not the only student to figure things out. My publisher had told me just that morning that another student had asked if the dates given in the books were accurate. He assured her that they changed the dates to obscure the true identities of the parties involved, and they did - but did they change them enough?_

 _I was already halfway to a panic about that, before the Dueling Club ever began. That evening… well, you were there._

 _I've written this letter to thank you. You see, it was our conversation, after the Dueling Club, that put things into perspective for me. I can't carry the weight of this anymore, and staying at Hogwarts would only make that guilt worse. What's more, I'm rubbish as a teacher, as was evident during the last term. Self-promotion? I'm all over it. Putting pen to parchment? However inaccurate the facts, I did at least write the books, and they sold quite well._

 _But I can't shake the notion that someone will try to apply a lesson from my books in a crisis, and end up getting themselves injured. Or worse - getting someone else injured, or even killed. No, I really can't live with that._

 _It would be impossible for me to go back over my travels and undo the damage I've done, repair the lives I've damaged. And there are many whose lives I've damaged over the years. Against that I balance my good looks and winning smile (for not everything was fake), and a Charms Mastery - perhaps the only accolade I actually earned. Will I be successful in doing something of benefit with my life, to balance out my many mistakes? I honestly don't know._

 _But I plan to try._

 _Yours,_

 _Gilderoy Lockhart_

Harry looked up at his father, before wordlessly handing the letter over. James took it, but kept his eyes on his son. With a sigh, Harry began to explain.

"I saw that Lockhart was having a panic attack after the dueling club, just before the end of the last term. He was freaking out because Justin Finch-Fletchley almost got bitten by a snake. When I talked to him, the subject of his books came up, and he all but admitted that they weren't quite accurate. He seemed to be guilty about that, about taking a professorship he really didn't feel qualified for, and other things he didn't mention." Harry shrugged. "So I gave him Mister Fitzpatrick's information, and said that he might be able to help."

James nodded, his eyes scanning the letter. "I see. Well, Robert floo'ed me last night and said that Lockhart was taking an apprenticeship at Saint Mungo's. I thought I had misheard, and that he was being committed _to_ Saint Mungo's."

Harry chuckled at that. "He did come off as a bit odd, didn't he?" James could only agree - the Potters had discussed the defense professor and his eccentricities at length, that holiday.

"He did. But from this letter, it sounds like he was stuck beneath his own lies. He faked it until he made it, I suppose - and then had to keep faking it." James shook his head. "He could have gotten someone killed."

"Well," said Harry, "I hope everything works out for him." He looked about the room, seeing that all of the many portraits of Lockhart had been removed. _The Hogwarts elves did quick work_ , he thought. Then he saw one of their own training dummies, set up against the side of the classroom. He looked back to his father, raising an eyebrow. "You're not filling in for the entire term, are you?"

A look of mock horror crossed James' face. "Merlin, no. I'm told that the Board of Governors already has a candidate scheduled to arrive next Monday. The word is that she and the Headmistress don't exactly have the warmest working relationship. Which might not matter, in the long run - they need a Defense professor, not an auror screwing about for a week."

Now Susan's enthusiasm for that morning's class made sense. "Susan and the hufflepuffs seem to have had fun. She said it was the best defense class she had ever had."

James looked surprised at the praise. "Really?"

Harry shrugged. "I mean, between a faker and the Dark Lord, surely you can top them both, right, old man?"

The look of indignation on James' face was priceless. "Oi!" shouted Lord Potter. "I'm only 32, I'm not old!"

oOoOoOoOo

Chaser wished that Gryffindor had their double Defense on Tuesdays, rather than the shorter single period. As had been the case with Susan, it was the best single class in the subject that he had ever had.

The Defense classroom was set up to allow small duels or other limited spellcasting demonstrations, either from students or the professor. That meant that there was a built-in ward scheme that could throw a shield between the student desks and the front of the classroom. James (and Sirius, via mirror) had come up with a fun way to test the wards out. And if they broke the classroom? Then the Board should have spent the galleons on upgrades.

James fully intended to enjoy his week of teaching.

The second year gryffindors, alongside their slytherin yearmates, entered the classroom that Tuesday to find a training dummy set up and ready to go. Lord Potter, in his professor's robes, was standing next to the blackboard. He had diagrammed the wand movement for the _Protego_ charm, the shield charm that Lockhart had half-heartedly attempted to teach during the Dueling Club.

"Good afternoon, class, as you've no doubt heard, I am Professor Potter, and I will be filling in for this week's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. Now, we're not going to review everything that your, er, previous professor had you learning, because I don't know what the new one will have you doing next week. So today, we're just going to re-learn a basic shield charm. So, who knows the incantation for a shield charm?"

Hermione's hand shot up immediately, as expected. "Miss Granger?"

"Protego, sir." Chaser grinned at his father's eye roll at being called 'sir'.

"Correct, take two points for Gryffindor. Yes, the basic shield charm is called the _Protego_ , and it is quite a useful general purpose shield. You'll find that some shields are better at dealing with some sorts of curses, while others have additional benefits like reflecting the spell back at its caster or creating a flash of light that might disorient your opponent." James leaned back against his desk, adopting an easy-going posture. "There is even a shield charm that converts the blocked spell into a blast of sound that follows the spell's path back to the caster, also in an attempt to disorient them."

Another hand. "Yes, Miss Greengrass?" Daphne looked annoyed at Professor Potter's lackadaisical attitude. _Wait for it,_ Chaser thought.

"Professor," she began, "Why would you bother with the light show, when a regular shield works just as well?"

"An excellent question, Miss Greengrass, take a point for Slytherin. The reason is that it gives your opponent something else to worry about. It may blind them, it may distract them, and it may give you that one extra second you need to either stun them, disable them, or get the hell away from them. For example." James' wand appeared in his hand, and he cast a bright blue curse at the dummy. Its shield flared to life, causing the slytherins on that side of the room to shield their eyes. When they looked up, James had his wand aimed at the ceiling above them. Even with a demonstration such as this, he was not going to aim his wand at a student.

Instead, he shouted "BANG!" and the sonorus he had cast while they were disoriented made his voice boom. "Now I've stunned you. Or worse." He turned back toward Daphne, who had a thoughtful expression. "Does that answer you, Miss Greengrass?" He received a nod from the slytherin, and gave one in return. "Right, good. Any other questions?"

"Do shields block objects, Professor?" This came from Lavender Brown.

Before he could answer, James heard snickering from the front row. Glancing over, he saw Draco Malfoy sharing a laugh at the question with Crabbe and Goyle. Eyes narrowing, James transfigured a paperweight into a brick, and then gave the Gryffindor side of the room a wink. With a quick motion, James threw the brick at Malfoy's head.

The shouts from his classmates were enough to get Draco's attention, just in time to see the brick flying right toward him. In a panic, he stumbled into the aisle between the desks, landing on his rear.

The brick shattered against the ward shield between the students and the front of the class. A few snickers were heard, as Draco brushed himself off and took his seat. No one remarked on how much paler he looked.

James, meanwhile, simply shrugged and looked back at Lavender. "It would seem that they can, Miss Brown." He turned to the blackboard. "Alright, take this down." As the class began to take their notes, Chaser could not keep the grin off his face.

 _Definitely, best class ever._ Chaser couldn't wait to tell the link.

oOoOoOoOo

The five spent much of their Friday night conference discussing Lockhart - and trying to figure out if the other versions of the professor might also be tempted to depart.

Chaser enjoyed comparing his defense classes that week with the usual drivel the others had to endure. His father had tried to make the lessons enjoyable, and seemed to have done quite well at it. Susan had suggested that he might consider teaching on a full time basis once he retired from the auror corps, an idea that Chaser loved.

Spellforged worried less about who the professor was (though _anyone_ would be better than Lockhart, he thought), and more about what they were - or weren't - learning. He had looked up the shield charm over the holidays, and suggested that the others do the same, as it was dead useful.

To his surprise, Marigold had already done exactly that, both as a reaction to the dueling club incident and as an attempt to figure out just what she had done to the bludger that Dobby had sent after her. The reports said that she created a powerful shield with a burst of accidental magic, which of course she dismissed as nonsense. She had intended to defend herself, had hoped against hope that she could do so, somehow.

And she had.

So they had a project. Spellforged found it harder to discuss wand movements over the link than he had the hand movements of Goblin magic, so his instruction was limited at best. Fortunately, the library had books on wand-based spells, something it obviously lacked for Goblin magic.

As the discussion wound on, only Rose noticed that Seeker had stayed much more quiet than usual. She considered asking him what was on his mind, but decided against it - for, were the positions reversed, she would likely want to be left alone as well.

oOoOoOoOo

That Saturday, Daphne Greengrass found Seeker in her spot on the fourth floor, sitting in the window and watching the winter sunset.

The slytherin had been approached in the library by a very nervous Hermione Granger, much to her surprise. After a few quiet minutes, during which each of the girls worked on their own assignments, Hermione had thanked her for helping them look into the Heir of Slytherin last term. Daphne had nodded in acknowledgement, saying that it was obvious that Potter was not the Heir, to anyone who had eyes to see.

Hermione seemed inclined to keep her own counsel about her friend. As someone who often found herself doing much the same, Daphne could respect that. The interesting thing about that afternoon had been that the longer they sat there, working on their homework, the more they ended up talking about Harry Potter. She found herself telling Hermione about the dinner Harry had attended with her family over the holidays, and Hermione in turn told her how much Harry had enjoyed the evening.

This eventually turned the conversation back to the school, and the ongoing whispers about Harry and his being the Heir. Daphne scoffed once more, but understood how upset he might be about the rumors. Hermione agreed, and wondered what could be done about it. The most interesting point she raised is that she had not actually seen Harry all day - which worried her, as he tended to withdraw when he was upset. Daphne shrugged - she had no idea where he might be.

Their homework done, the pair soon found themselves packing their bags and walking out of the library. Daphne agreed that she would tell Harry to find Hermione, if she saw him before dinner. Hermione had thanked her for that, and for the help on her homework. The footsteps behind her, of what turned out to be a group of hufflepuffs, told Daphne that the comment had been meant for their ears, as a cover for the impromptu summit between a pureblood slytherin and a muggleborn gryffindor.

The strange meeting was still on Daphne's mind as she thought about where Harry might be hiding out. As she passed the entrance hall, she saw that the sky was clear and cloudless, and that evening was fast approaching. That gave her an idea of where Harry could be found. Maybe.

On the fourth floor, along the west-facing wall between the Arithmancy and History of Magic classrooms, Daphne found Seeker sitting in a window. The thick stone walls of the castle meant that the window sill was deep enough to almost conceal the gryffindor - but not his bag, which sat on the ground.

He was leaning against the far side of the window, eyes firmly fixed on the horizon. Daphne saw his hand move to his wand, and knew that he had heard her - but then, when it relaxed, she realized that he knew that it was her. Or, at least, someone he recognized. Drawing close to the window, she decided to merely lean against the edge opposite him, where she too could see the sunset.

As she had suspected, it was a breathtaking view. Ever since he had told her about this spot, she had tried to come up here at least once every few weeks, when the skies were clear enough to make it worthwhile.

Eventually, it was Harry who broke the silence.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked. She smiled at that, keeping her eyes on the reddening skies.

"If Miss Granger is any indication, that should probably be my line." Daphne retorted, with amusement in her voice to take the edge off the rebuke.

"Hermione worries too much, I think." Seeker replied.

"Perhaps," allowed Daphne. "But that does not mean she's wrong to worry."

Harry said nothing. After another minute, the quiet was broken by a spinning knut, twirling its way across the flat stone of the window sill. He looked up at the slytherin, the question on his face.

"Knut for your thoughts?" She asked, smiling.

Picking up the coin, he began passing it through his fingers, moving it from one hand to the other in a practiced motion. She said nothing - he was clearly gathering his thoughts.

"What did you think of our Defense classes this week?" he asked, as if changing the subject.

Daphne raised an eyebrow at the digression, but considered her answer nonetheless. "They were… as expected, I suppose."

Harry laughed at that. "Not a fan of the great Gilderoy Lockhart, then?" asked Harry. Her scoff answered him, and he laughed again. "Guess not." Her only reply was a soft chuckle. "Right, well, I was just thinking about that class, you know? Wondering what would happen if, oh, say Lockhart got outed as a fraud and did a runner."

A shrug. "I imagine they would bring in an auror or some similar official to teach the class, perhaps multiple aurors on a rotating basis." She did not mention the fraud allegation, for it was an open secret in Slytherin that Lockhart had done exactly none of the feats he claimed.

Harry nodded. "That's probably what they'd do. Madam Bones would grumble about losing an auror for however long it took to find a replacement, but she'd do it." He looked over to her. "Of all the classes you need to join the auror corps, Defense is top of the list. She wouldn't let it be neglected if she could avoid it."

Daphne returned his nod, not sure where he was going with this.

"It got me to thinking," Harry said, quietly. "My father was an auror when he died. Had been almost since he graduated. Turns out a civil war eats up aurors pretty quickly." When Daphne said nothing, he continued. "I'll bet, if he were alive, he'd be front of the line to take a few weeks off and teach." Now he had a soft smile as he spoke. "Especially if his son were a student? No question he'd want to come and see how he was doing."

Daphne sat down on the sill, watching him. His eyes had returned to the horizon, and the now darkening sky. There was clearly emotion on his face - regret and sorrow mainly, if she read him correctly - but he was not as upset as he might have been. This had clearly weighed on him, that much was obvious.

"The last Heir of Slytherin," he said, "was a man named Tom Riddle. He opened the chamber in the forties, right up until he killed a student in 1943. When the board threatened to close the school in response to the attacks, he stopped them. Later, he took on another name." He looked over, and saw her eyes widening at the revelation. "You may have heard of him as Lord Voldemort."

She gasped - not at the name, but at the implications. Before she could respond, he had continued on.

"That… creature… took so much from me," Harry said, the emotion plain in his voice. "He took my mother, he took my father, he took my home, he took everything from me. How could anyone think I would follow in his footsteps and attack anyone?" He turned back to the window, struggling to keep his voice even and controlled. Daphne was honestly surprised that he was this collected, given what had clearly been on his mind all week.

Harry shook his head, sadly. "I sit in that stupid classroom, with those awful portraits sneering down at me, and just think how much my father would have loved teaching. He'd keep the Blonde Ponce on his toes, that's for sure." She could not contain the snicker that escaped her, and saw him grin as well. "Bet you he'd test Draco's shields by chucking a brick at his head." That got another laugh from the pair, breaking some of the tension.

She saw him wipe his eyes, and realized why they were wet.

"I just…. I don't know, Daphne, it never does any good to dwell on what might've been, but I can't help it." He sighed heavily. "I've just been in my head all week, I guess." Turning, he looked over to her. "It's good to know I'm not alone. Not anymore. Thank you for letting me ramble on, Daphne." He flipped the knut toward her, and grinned when she snatched it out of the air.

"It would seem I got my money's worth then," She said with a smile. Pocketing the coin, she picked up her bag, seeing that he had gone for his own. "You know that you're never alone, right?"

He nodded, seeming more amused by that statement than she would have expected. "I know. You and Ron and Neville and Hermione have kept me sane, this last month or so. I owe you all."

She nodded, almost formally, in response. "I will hold you to that, Heir Potter." Then she gave an exaggerated curtsey, causing them both to laugh.

"Indeed, Heiress Greengrass," was Harry's mockingly formal response, before offering a deep bow of his own. Their renewed laughter echoed down the empty corridor, long after the stars shone in the black sky.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The following Monday, true to James' word, Susan Bones met their new Defense Professor.

The woman was the opposite of Gilderoy Lockhart in every conceivable way. She was a tall woman, approaching two meters in height. Her white-blonde hair was kept short and neat, much like many of the female aurors Susan had met through her Aunt. The Professor's blue eyes seemed to track each student as they entered the classroom, another sign that she had at least had auror training at one point. Her robes were black with burgundy accents - which surprised her, as usually Hogwarts professors wore at least some element of their house colors when teaching.

When the hufflepuffs and ravenclaws were seated, the professor walked to a podium. She carried only the attendance sheet, no other notes.

"Good morning. My name is Professor Alexandria Knight-Ketterhagen, and I will be your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for the remainder of the year. You may call me Professor Knight." Her eyes continued to scan the classroom, getting an idea for who was or was not paying attention. Her voice had traces of what sounded like a German accent, one that had been worn off over years of living in Britain.

The professor continued. "I graduated in 1959 from the Oslo Academy of Magical Studies. Unlike my esteemed predecessor," and here she paused for snickers from the ravenclaw side of the room - and, to Susan's surprise, from the 'puffs as well. "I hold masteries in both Transfiguration and Defense. The upper years will be applying some of their Transfiguration lessons to practical defense, as some curses can only be blocked by physical objects, rather than cast shields. For your class, well," She held up a copy of _Magical Me._ "Let's just say we have a lot of work to do to catch up."

In a move that won her the instant support of every student in the room, Professor Knight tossed the book in the air. Out came her wand - a long straight wand of a red wood. Wordlessly, and without a visible spell flying, the book caught fire. It landed with a thump on the floor, already beginning to fall apart. Gilderoy Lockhart's portrait on the cover was desperately trying to extinguish his robes, which had also caught fire. In short order, the memoir was nothing more than ash.

Professor Knight let the applause die before she walked to the blackboard.

"Parchment out, everyone. Let's talk about magical and mundane fire…"

Susan took out her notes, and shared a look with Hannah Abbott. Both found themselves looking forward to Professor Knight's tenure.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Welcome, Professor Knight. I wonder how the DADA curse handles partial years? We'll have to find out.**

 **Seeker's had a rough go of things, as he would have in canon. And then, he gets a headful of Chaser laughing and telling stories about his father's Defense lessons, all while sitting in Lockhart's class doing, well, whatever the hell it is that he does while pretending to be a professor. This chapter began as little more than setting up Professor Knight and giving Chaser some family time, as well as dispensing (for now) with our Guilty!Lockhart. Part of what I love about writing this story is that moments like Seeker and Daphne's seem to just grow organically from completely unrelated moments in the other worlds. I'm thrilled that the story allows me to indulge those moments like this - and that the readers enjoy that sort of thing, or at least seem to.**

 **Rest assured, things will pick up in pace as we barrel toward the end of the year.**

 **As this is posted on the 1st of January, Happy New Year! Good fortune to you and yours, etc etc. I hope your 2019 is better than your 2018, however good it may or may not have been for you.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	44. Be Mine

The next six weeks almost kept the five too busy to worry about the basilisk. Almost.

Each of their schools remained tense, as if the students were preparing for another attack. Many probably were. No one worried about that prospect more than Rose Potter, because her best hope of finding the Chamber of Secrets would be to have Ginny (still under the diary's control) stage another attack. If and when that happened, she'd have to reveal the chamber's entrance - at which point, Rose could take the diary and summon the Headmaster to deal with the monster.

None of them had any interest in dealing directly with an ancient basilisk of unknown size.

They continued to search for Riddle's first victim, hoping that it might be a clue. Contemporary records showed that a student had died at the school in 1943, and even identified the student as a member of Ravenclaw house. To Rose's annoyance, however, it seemed that the wizards in power at the time chose to keep the student's name and cause of death a secret. She understood this on one level - it was at the height of Grindelwald's War, and having a magical creature unleashed on Hogwarts while the great Albus Dumbledore was still nominally a professor could indeed have started a panic.

For now, Rose had few options. She had managed to tag Ginny with a tracking charm on the girl's wand, which proved less useful that she had hoped. If she knew more about charms and spellcrafting, Rose would have attempted something more complex - she was of a mind to be notified if Ginny wandered the halls alone, or at certain times, both of which would be a sign of a possible attack. With what she read in a third year textbook, however, she was limited to a spell that would show the target's footsteps. It would work for tracing Ginny's path through the castle, and possibly to the chamber, but only after the fact.

Between the charm, and simply keeping eyes on Ginny when possible, Rose was optimistic. The other four had no choice but to share that optimism, as they found themselves relying entirely on the slytherin to manage her task.

No one mentioned that they were on a clock. Spellforged expected the basilisk to get hungry before the end of the year, which meant an attack. Could it get out of the castle? Probably - in which case there would be a basilisk roaming the grounds. If not, the beast would be in one of the castle's hallways. Neither of those scenarios appealed to anyone.

The tension inside the castles was not helped by their Defense classes. Chaser's tales of the interesting and incredibly useful spells his class was learning from Professor Knight just made things worse. In a burst of frustration, Spellforged one night found himself asking Chaser for a summary of his class notes. Chaser happily obliged him, and found himself highly amused that he actually got to teach the ravenclaw something. Spellforged had responded by grumbling in the Goblin Tongue, getting chuckles from the group.

Soon, the second years in all five worlds were working from Professor Knight's course outline. Rose's study group was baffled, and her explanation that she had gotten the notes from an upper year student was unconvincing at best. Hermione figured she was being proactive, given the tension between her and Draco. Susan, meanwhile, was impressed with her dedication to the subject, and figured out (correctly) that the notes had come from a former auror. Fortunately, the professor who had taught the current seventh years in their second year _had_ been an auror, so Rose went with the convenient story.

Seeker wondered what Professor Knight would say, if she knew. Chaser responded that she would probably ask for a pay raise, seeing as she was doing five times the work.

Marigold shared the notes with her group as well - Ron, Hermione, and Neville. Hermione, as with her counterparts, wanted to know more about where the notes came from, but the same explanations that Rose had come up with seemed to satisfy her curiosity. To Marigold's surprise, it was Neville who first mastered the shield charm, though he needed to work on adding power to strengthen the shield. Hermione and Marigold both suspected that the boy's legacy wand was part of the problem, and resolved to discuss it with him that summer.

oOoOoOoOo

 _ **There there, my dear, that wasn't so hard, was it?**_

 _Tom, you know I can never stand to see her eat like that._

 _ **It can't be helped, Ginevra, and you know this. She can't go much longer than a few months without food, and only because her magic sustains her. Even waiting for Valentine's Day was pushing that limit, you saw how ravenous she was.**_

 _I know. But we needed everyone distracted. Still..._

… _ **.You have doubts. I thought we had gotten past this, Ginevra.**_

 _Don't be mad, Tom, please._

 _ **I'm not mad, but I need you to understand how important our work is for the world.**_

 _I just don't feel like I can do this anymore, Tom._

… _ **.Ginevra, do you know why we keep feeding Finola? Why we don't just put her back into her enchanted sleep?**_

 _Tom, you're hurting me._

 _ **Finola is a tool, Ginevra. Nothing more. My ancestor left her in the school, hidden in his chamber, waiting for the day when we would cleanse the castle of the filth it had accumulated. Now is the time, Ginevra.**_

 _Tom, I can't…_

 _ **You don't even need to write in the diary anymore, did you realize that? You're standing there, cowering in a toilet, afraid to do what is necessary to wield the power at your fingertips. And I'm there beside you, guiding you. You owe me, for granting you such a boon.**_

 _Tom…_

 _ **Finola is a tool, Ginevra Weasley. Just like you. One does not allow their tools to go to waste.**_

 _No!_

oOoOoOoOo

Valentine's Day came and went with Rose taking very little notice. She received no valentines, and expected none, but several older students (including some outside of Slytherin!) wished her a pleasant Valentine's Day, which amused her. Daphne got a laugh out of the situation as well, and Rose could already see the wheels turning behind those blue eyes. She knew that, in years to come, Daphne would likely take her duties as matchmaker quite seriously. Tracey Davis, having seen the same look, told Daphne to be careful, as setting Rose up with anyone against her wishes would probably result in Daphne hanging from the ceiling by her big toe. Her chuckles softened the warning, and Daphne knew that she was only half-serious.

The day was much like any other Sunday, it seemed, right up until Madam Pomfrey asked her to join her in the infirmary after lunch. Daphne and Rose shared a look, for neither of the girls had any idea what was going on. Had there been another attack, it would have been Snape or McGonagall who summoned her, not the school's medi-witch.

In Madam Pomfrey's office, Rose found a crate of potions. Each small vial had a slightly-cloudy mixture inside. The stoppers on each vial had the potioneer's mark and number, to track quality and provenance. On the side of each potion, a small label identified the contents as _MRD._ Rose raised an eyebrow at this, her eyes lifting to meet Pomfrey's.

"Mister Filch tells me that the case just came in, containing twenty-four doses of Mandrake Restorative Draught." Madam Pomfrey held up a letter. "This came with the shipment." She handed the letter over to Rose, who opened it. It consisted of a short, printed message.

 _My sources suggest that these might come in handy this year. Use them well.  
_ _Potions courtesy the Myrtle Warren Memorial Fund_

Underneath that text was a simple, handwritten signature.

 _-P_ _R_

"Professor Snape," continued the medi-witch, "suggests that this was provided by someone in your family's employ, Miss Potter." She tapped the signature. "Does the Potter Family employ a regent, perhaps?"

Rose's mind was racing. The regent knew about the petrifications, clearly. They also suspected that there would be more to come, which was worrisome. It was the source of the funds that caught her eye, though.

"We do have a regent, as it happens," said Rose, cautiously. "It was established through the Goblins and my family's old solicitor. But I've not spoken to the man in some time." Madam Pomfrey didn't need the details, nor did she need to learn about Rose's ignorance as to the regent's identity. Instead, she held up the letter. "Who was Myrtle Warren?"

Pomfrey had begun unloading the crate, inspecting the vials to make sure none had broken in transit. "Poor girl, she was a ravenclaw who died in her fourth year. The story goes that she was killed when another student's creature got out of control. The student in question was caught by the Head Boy and expelled, I believe."

Rose worked hard to keep the look of shock off of her face. "Early 1940's, perhaps?"

Pomfrey nodded, not looking up from her work. "Oh, yes I believe it was." She thought for a moment, before continuing. "You know, Professor Dumbledore might-" She looked up, only to find her office empty.

In the corridor, Rose was walking as fast as she could, so as to avoid attracting attention. There was a long, wide hallway that led from the infirmary to the great hall, running almost the length of the castle. It was the same hallway that saw Filch's cat petrified on Halloween. It was the same hallway where Ginny first wrote the Heir's warning. It was the same hallway that once again seemed to be flooding. As she approached, she saw a steady stream of water flowing out of the girl's restroom. The same one with its own ghost.

A ghost named Moaning Myrtle.

 _I think I've found the entrance,_ thought Rose. Holding her wand in her palm, she whispered a _Point Me_ charm, hoping to see if Ginny was nearby. To her surprise, the wand pointed directly at the bathroom door. _Ginny is in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and I think Myrtle is the girl who died in 1943._

 _Be careful,_ she heard Seeker respond, over the link.

Her wand out, Rose stepped quietly into the bathroom. The room seemed empty, except for a quiet sobbing from one of the stalls. As she approached, she heard a girl swearing.

Rounding the corner, Rose found Ginny Weasley desperately attempting to shove something into the toilet.

"Ginny?"

Ginny spun around and saw Rose, her eyes growing wide in horror. She had all of the mannerisms of someone who had just been caught red-handed at something. Rose noticed that she was shaking, and stepped forward.

"Ginny, it's ok, you're alright now." Rose stepped closer, and the dam broke. Ginny stumbled toward her, still shaking. It took all of her will to suppress a shudder as Ginny hugged her, clinging onto the slytherin for dear life. The sobs were coming quickly now, and Rose could tell that Ginny was an absolute wreck. Awkwardly, Rose patted her on the back, holding her tightly.

"Shhh, it's ok Ginny, it's over now, I've got you." The girl continued to sob as Rose tried to calm her. Over the link, she spoke to the others. _She was trying to stuff the diary down a toilet. She might have broken free on her own._

 _Maybe,_ replied Spellforged. _My Ginny still tried to stun her brother, even when she wasn't holding the diary, so be cautious._

 _Of course,_ Rose said. As she stood there hugging Ginny, she stepped to the side. This rotated the pair, so that Rose was now between the diary and its victim.

"I told you she would help," a high voice called out from inside the bathroom. Rose turned, and saw the ghostly form of a dark-haired ravenclaw girl floating towards them.

Ginny sniffled at the comment, but said nothing. Rose looked at her and nodded. "Myrtle Warren, I presume?"

Myrtle looked pleased at the recognition. "Finally, someone who wants to hear my story."

Rose gave her a smile. "Once I have Ginny sorted, Myrtle, I promise to come back and listen to your story. Can I bring friends?"

That seemed to be the correct thing to say, for Myrtle's face lit up at the proposal. "Oh, yes! Please!"

Another nod. "Done. Thank you for helping Ginny, Myrtle." She watched as the still grinning ghost floated through a wall, leaving them alone. Rose looked down at Ginny, who was wiping her eyes and looking fearfully up at the slytherin.

As her tears subsided, Ginny spoke. "What happens now?"

"Now," said Rose, "you may want to clean yourself up a bit, and then we'll go down and chat with Madam Pomfrey to make sure you're alright."

Ginny nodded, and turned around to look at herself in the mirror. She was shocked to see how pale she had become, how _worn_. If the diary was doing this to her… if _Tom_ was doing this, then perhaps it was better to be rid of the book once and for all. Reaching up, Ginny began straightening her robes. Something whispered to her, something she had forgotten, just at the back of her mind. On impulse, she looked into the mirror and saw Rose bending over the toilet.

"And the diary?" Ginny found herself asking.

"I think your brother Bill can get it looked at by the Goblins," Rose said, as she examined the now soaked book. "Once they figure out what it is, they'll probably destroy it. And that will be that." On a whim, Rose cast her mage sight. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw how utterly black the soul magic in that diary seemed to be.

She did not subscribe to the traditional thinking about light and dark magic. Even so, she knew that there was magic so dark that it could be nothing other than evil - and she was looking at it right now. If magic was intent given form, then this diary was nothing more than pure, concentrated malice.

"Destroy it?" asked Ginny, in a quiet voice.

Rose saw the sheer power of the diary, appalled at the very existence of such a thing. She did not hear the uncertainty in Ginny's voice. Nor did she see the arc of magic tethering the diary to its victim.

"Probably," replied Rose. "I suspect they won't want to leave it be, once they are done with it." Something about the book seemed to command her attention, and she found that she could not tear her eyes from it. She ran a finger across the gold lettering, that bold _T M Riddle_ across the cover.

"I see," was the reply. Gone from Ginny's voice was any trace of warmth or worry. Rose's eyes grew wide, and she looked toward the mirrors - just in time to see the red light of Ginny's stunner.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **A short chapter to keep things moving. Updates may slip to two weeks apart over the course of the next month or so. That's the problem with keeping up a brisk update schedule - eventually life intervenes.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	45. The Secret Blade

That afternoon, Anthony Goldstein found Harry Spellforged in their dorm. He was sitting on his bed, legs crossed beneath him, hands folded in his lap. His eyes were closed. By all appearances, he seemed to be in some sort of trance.

It was Sunday, there was nowhere to be, no event planned that would require Harry to attend. But it was also unseasonably warm, and some of the boys from Hufflepuff were setting up an impromptu game of football. Anthony had been sent up to see if Harry wanted to play - Harry's cousin Eric could be quite insistent, when he wanted to be.

"Um, Harry?" he asked, quietly. Spellforged opened his eyes and looked over at him, before closing them again.

"Yes, Anthony?" The response was pleasant, with none of the trademark annoyance one got from an eagle who had their studies interrupted. There had been a brief flash of… something, though, across his roommate's face.

"We were going down to the pitch for a game, and Eric thought you might want to come."

Harry's shoulders slumped, just enough for Anthony to notice. "I won't be playing today, but maybe I'll come down and cheer you on." A slight smile crossed his face. "You might try inviting Hagrid, he hasn't had a chance to see the pitch in action yet."

That got a chuckle from Anthony. "Maybe he'll agree to referee sometime?" he asked. They had joked about the prospect at the beginning of the year, with Harry pointing out that Hagrid would be able to see the entire game from that high up.

Once Anthony left, Harry settled himself back into the link. He had wanted his full attention to be on what was happening with Rose. As he opened himself up to the conversation, he heard Marigold speaking.

"He'll wake her up," she was saying. "Riddle will want to brag. He can't switch over to her, because she's never written in the diary. There's no connection."

"They have to be in the Chamber," Seeker pointed out. "He's not going to try… whatever it is on Ginny in a girl's loo."

"Can we wake her up?" asked Chaser. "Like we did with Marigold?"

"Maybe," said Spellforged, the uncertainty in the statement clear. "And if she stays quiet for long enough, we'll try it. But for now, I agree with Mari - the diary will wake her up before Ginny passes the point of no return. Once that happens, we'll have to trust Rose."

"Fawkes came," said Marigold, quietly. "Fawkes knew that I was in trouble, and came to me somehow. Maybe he will find her, too?" Despite the hope she clearly felt, they could tell that she was reaching.

Chaser was the one who said why. "There's no way she will be able to pull the shield of Gryffindor out of the sorting hat, and that assumes that Fawkes brings it there in the first place." They could almost hear him shaking his head. "I hope I'm wrong, but she might be on her own."

As if summoned, they heard her then. "Stupid, stupid, stupid…" came the voice of a very annoyed slytherin.

oOoOoOoOo

Professor Snape led his guest to one of the meeting rooms, just off of the entrance hall. The Headmaster did not want to entertain the Board of Governors in the opening hours of this crisis, nor did he trust that this particular governor would not attempt to interfere.

As they entered the room, however, both men were surprised to find it occupied. The long table was strewn with large parchments and rolled documents, some several feet square. When the Professor approached the table, he saw that they were various depictions of Hogwarts castle.

As Snape was examining the documents, his guest recovered from the surprise. "Lord Hillyer, what an interesting day for you to visit," he said, in his usual drawl.

Lord Hillyer looked up, removing the glasses he had been wearing - glasses that clearly seemed to have some magnifying function. "Lord Malfoy," he replied. "I was told that my talents might be of use in solving a particular dilemma here at the school, so, well," He waved a hand a the blueprints spread out before him. "It hurt nothing to make the attempt."

Malfoy scoffed at that. The pair were frequently on opposite sides of debate in the Wizengamot, this was a secret to no one - but outside of the chambers, they were generally pleasant to one another. Indeed, when they first met he had been surprised at Hillyer's manner, for the Potter proxy had acted almost amused at seeing the newly minted Lord Malfoy. Somehow, that never quite went away, even years later.

Hillyer's smirk was no different. "Do you know something I don't, Lucius? I admit, having never attended Hogwarts, I might not know the ins and outs of Slytherin house, but I was not led to believe that the location of the Chamber of Secrets was common knowledge."

"Someone knows where the Chamber must be," replied Snape. "They've taken two girls and hidden them there."

Professor Snape suddenly found himself looking into the dull blue eyes of Lord Hillyer, and realized that he now had the Potter proxy's full attention.

"Tell me," he said simply.

"Their skeletons will lie in the chamber forever," said Snape. "Another message, on the same wall as Halloween."

Hillyer nodded, as if he expected that. Seeing Snape's look, he explained. "It's the next logical step, the next escalation. Lord Malfoy is here, which means that the Board is aware, which means that the Headmaster is in their sights, is this not so Lucius?" Lord Malfoy could do little more than nod. Hillyer then turned to Snape. "Right, and since you're here…"

"The girls are a gryffindor and a slytherin," said Albus Dumbledore as he entered. "Ginny Weasley and Rose Potter."

Hillyer digested that for the moment, looking at the Headmaster. Then he pulled out a map, using his wand to lay it flat on the table. "Well, then it's fortunate that I've found the Chamber, isn't it?"

oOoOoOoOo

The first thing Rose Potter noticed was the smell. Wherever she was, it hadn't been cleaned in quite some time, if ever. Opening her eyes, she saw that she was laying on a flat stone dais, elevated slightly above a walkway and a pool of fetid, cloudy water.

There was a girl laying next to her. Though Rose could not see her face, the red hair and red-trimmed robes left no doubt as to her identity. _Ginny,_ she thought to herself.

The scene in the bathroom came back to her, then. How the diary had captivated her attention, even as she fished it from the toilet. Marigold had warned them about the artifact's compulsion charms, how they had convinced her to write in its pages even after firmly deciding not to do so. Rose suppressed a shudder - she ranked compulsion charms like those just under the _Imperius_ on the list of curses that infuriated her.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ she admonished herself. She had known there would be a trap, and walked into it anyway. That charms had been involved did not diminish the disappointment she felt in herself at the failure.

Her four counterparts all began speaking at once, creating a sense of chatter across the link. She had to calm them down - even as she calmed herself. _I'm fine,_ she sent. _I'm in a massive stone chamber that stinks so badly I'm surprised the school doesn't smell it. Ginny is out cold, which means Tom is awake._

 _Keep him talking,_ said Marigold. _We think Fawkes will help you, like he did me._

Rose could not help but project a mental roll of her eyes. _The sorting hat is not going to give me the bloody Shield of Gryffindor, Marigold. I doubt it'd even give me the sword._ She sighed, and began to lift herself up off of the stone. _You best start figuring out how to teach me to conjure a rooster, kids, or this could go badly._

"I see you're awake," said a voice. It was that of a teenage boy, and Rose realized with a start that it felt familiar. The self-importance, the arrogance, the distaste for anyone below their station - yes, she had heard this voice before. Slytherin upper years had mastered it by the time they got to the end of their time in the snake pit.

It didn't have quite the same effect when your target knew that you were bluffing, though. Rose stood, brushing off her robes. She noticed that she still had her wand, for some reason. Across the dais, she saw the slytherin boy, just as Marigold had described him. Rose gave him an appraising look, and saw exactly what she expected - a handsome boy who had slytherin house wrapped around his finger.

 _You were right, Marigold,_ she sent. _This is exactly the sort of arsehole who would try to kill a toddler._

 _Yeah,_ agreed Chaser. _And he sounds like exactly the sort of ponce who would fuck it up._

Rose couldn't help it. She was still gathering her wits, still recovering from the stunner. When she heard Chaser's reply, she snorted.

The boy frowned. "Something about your situation amuses you, Miss Potter?"

Rose shook her head, still chuckling. Waving a hand at him, she made a show of struggling for her words. "I mean, look at you. You could have been Minister, if you wanted. Chief Warlock, maybe, if you played things correctly. The Slytherin name would have gotten you far, I think." She sighed. "Quite honestly, Mister Riddle, I find myself disappointed."

"I AM the Heir of Slytherin," Tom replied, hotly.

"So it would seem," she agreed. "And yet, in all of the time since you killed Myrtle Warren, in all the time since you publicly claimed that mantle, you never thought to claim the lordship? You never took on the power that a Lord Slytherin would command?" She placed a hand on her hip, tilting her head, giving him a look filled with judgment. "I never figured out why that was, exactly."

Now it was Tom's turn to scoff. "What would a half blood orphan know of such things?"

 **{"More than you'd think,"}** Rose hissed, letting herself slip into Parseltongue. Keeping the ability secret paid off in the look of shock on Tom Riddle's features.

 **{This is… unexpected,}** was his quiet reply.

Rose chuckled again at that. **{"How** _ **did**_ **the hat place you in Slytherin, I wonder? You take your muggle father's name, but your mother's line had ties to Slytherin himself, why would you not embrace that? Take the power and prestige that such a bloodline carries with it, half blood or no."}** She let the disappointment come out in her voice, shaking her head. **{"Instead, you built an inner circle of sycophants and cowards, lashing out at the muggles and the muggleborn, all because your daddy didn't love you."}**

 _How the hell did you get Parseltongue to sound so sarcastic?_ Rose heard Marigold ask, almost in wonder.

 _Practice,_ was her only reply. Rose knew that the others needed to hear the conversation, and was carefully dividing her attention between keeping the link open and watching Tom closely.

Tom was enraged, now - and part of Rose wondered if setting him off was the wisest course. But the idea was to keep his focus on her, and not on Ginny. Such was his anger that he fell back to English. "How could you possibly know about my father?" was his reply.

She let herself sneer at him. "Know thy enemy, Mister Riddle." She indicated the Chamber around them. "1943 was quite the year, as you'll recall. Slytherin's Chamber opened, for the first time I think, and its beast unleashed. Hagrid, with his spider that mysteriously petrified students, even killing one. Mudbloods all, if memory serves. And a young slytherin prefect who happened upon the criminal, just in time to save the school." She grinned at his astonishment. "Your stupid award still hangs in the trophy room, in case you missed it."

Tom seemed to be reappraising her, reevaluating what he knew about the light's snake, this girl-who-lived. "Perhaps I have underestimated you, after all." He said, thoughtfully.

Rose levelled her green eyes at him. **{"Wouldn't be the first time, Lord Voldemort."}**

He smiled at her, and it was not a pleasant smile. "So," he said, continuing in English. "You speak the name without fear, impressive. Ginny, there, couldn't even write it without shaking like an infant."

"It's hard to fear that name, when my mother and I defeated the wizard who used it while I was still in nappies." Rose enjoyed the look of anger on Tom's face, even as she ignored the laugh she heard over the link. Seeker was thrilled that she had stolen his line, apparently. She allowed herself another eye roll, only to feel something cold brush against her mind. It felt like the link, only not...

 _ **/Groznak/**_ _, that's a legilimency probe, Rose,_ said Spellforged. Rose's face froze in horror, even as Tom broke out in a grin.

"My word, you are full of surprises, aren't you Miss Potter? You, a half blood, and yet leader of my old house even as a second year, already you've made waves in the highest echelons of power at the Wizengamot, and you've made inroads with the Goblins. All this, I knew from Ginevra." It was as if he were gazing into her - which, in fact, he was, it seemed. Rose felt as if she were paralyzed. "And now we add to that the fact that you are a Parselmouth. But even then, we find more power than I could have dreamed."

 _Oh my God,_ thought Marigold. _He knows._

"Rose Potter, the Sixfold Witch. Such power you hold at the tip of your wand," Tom almost sounded impressed. "What a remarkable alliance we could forge, you and I."

"An alliance?" she spat the word as if it were a curse. "With you?"

Tom nodded. "Look at Ginny, a pureblood in name only. She poured her secrets into my pages, and I drank deep of her magic. Soon, she will be gone, and I will be reborn." His eyes met hers once more. "All you have to do to take your place in my new inner circle is to do nothing."

She stared at him, not quite believing what she was hearing. The link was in a panic, now - he _knew_. Even worse, he _coveted_.

"Together," he continued. "We could make the wizarding world ours, as only two true slytherins could."

oOoOoOoOo

"A girl's bathroom?" asked Lucius Malfoy, incredulously.

Hillyer nodded, pointing to the plans on the table. "This is the most recent map I can find for that part of the castle. In the early 1830's, the bathrooms in the castle were retrofitted for the new flush-style toilets." He indicated the new pipes that had been installed in the bathroom in question. "Apparently, before that upgrade, well… let's just say it wasn't pretty. First years would learn _Evanesco_ almost before the end of the welcoming feast."

Dumbledore nodded. Students these days had no idea how lucky they were. Nor did Mister Filch, for that matter.

"Now, see here," Hillyer pointed to one of the sinks. "Workers had to reinforce the floor here repeatedly, because it kept being undermined, as if the bricks were falling through the floor. Eventually they put in a thick stone slab that spanned the gap, and that was enough." He tapped on the map. "I'm betting that there was a passageway under that sink, and that the workers didn't notice because it was charmed against detection."

"Preposterous." All eyes turned to Lord Malfoy, who had his sneer back. "While you wave a map at us like we're still in school, two students have been abducted!" Malfoy pointed at the Headmaster, who did little more than meet his gaze. "Two students under your care, I might add. One of them the Heiress of my wife's house."

"We are doing what can be done, Lucius," said Dumbledore.

"The Board will disagree, I think, Dumbledore." Malfoy said, bitterly. Taking his cane in his hand, he turned and walked to the door. "No need for an escort, Severus, I know the way. The Board is in its usual office, I believe." With that implied threat, he was gone.

"Delightful," muttered Lord Hillyer.

"Indeed," said the Headmaster, his eyes returning to the map. "Why this bathroom, Joseph?"

"Ah, well, there I cheated a little." Hillyer looked a bit sheepish. "See, I may have looked up the records for Myrtle Warren, the girl who was killed in 1943." Again, he tapped the bathroom on the map. "Guess where she was found?"

"Quite a coincidence, that." said Dumbledore.

"Maybe. But that bathroom, with what looks like a disillusioned passageway? Right next to both the first and last messages? Those coincidences seem to be stacking up, Headmaster."

"Do we not need a Parselmouth to open the way to the Chamber?" asked Snape.

Lord Joseph Hillyer looked the Potions Master in the eye, and grinned. **{"Probably,"}** he hissed.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose Potter stared at the shade of Tom Riddle.

"An alliance?" she repeated, before allowing a sneer to cross her face. "With _you_?"

"The greatest sorcerer in the world, partnered with a witch of your abilities and power? Yes, such an alliance would be unstoppable."

Rose didn't like how he had emphasized _partner_. As he spoke, her thoughts raced. He knew about the link, he thought to ally her counterparts and herself in one move. _He thinks himself a slytherin,_ she reasoned, _and yet makes such a greedy move._

"No."

Tom stared at her. "No?"

Rose shook her head. "What cunning is there in anything you've ever done? You arrogant fool, look at yourself. You were so cunning that you announced your presence in the school, instead of striking from the shadows. You were so cunning that you were almost stopped by a first year who got tired of the mental abuse you obviously heaped upon her. No subtlety there, that's for sure." She smiled as his features betrayed the growing anger he felt. "Your only ambition led you to grab every scrap of power that you could - and it led you, in your true form, to cross wands with Lily Potter. It was she, a 'mudblood', who plotted out your death, with magic you cannot fathom because you cannot steal it."

"Honestly, _Tom_ , I can't think of a single wizard who is less Slytherin than you." She stood up straighter, moving to stand between Ginny and the would-be tyrant before her. "But do you realize what your worst mistake was, Tom Riddle?" She saw his eyes glance at her hand, noticing the wand there.

"What would that be, blood traitor?" Tom spat the words angrily. _Oh, that did it,_ she thought.

"Your worst mistake was making my sister cry."

His eyes widened at that, not realizing what she meant. She did not hesitate, however, and her _Expelliarmus_ struck true. This Riddle, it seemed, had not seen a need for a shield, overconfident as he was.

The spell passed right through Tom Riddle.

He chuckled at her surprise. "A bit premature, Miss Potter. Had you waited but a few minutes, the transfer would have been complete. Alas, it seems you will be missing it." He turned to the great stone statue, and hissed. **{"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."}**

The statue began to move, creating an opening. A basilisk sized opening. _Shit_ , thought Rose. Turning to Ginny, she saw that Fawkes had already arrived - and he had carried the Sorting Hat, just as Marigold had expected. Ignoring the taunts coming from Tom, Rose dodged behind one of the stone pillars that dotted the Chamber. Quickly, she placed the hat on her head. _Help me,_ she thought.

She felt a brush of contact against her skull, as if something hard had been placed gently against it. Lifting the hat, she reached in with her hand. She found something hard and round, almost like a handle. _Oh, you're fucking kidding me._

 _What happened?_ she heard Seeker ask. He had been the one who expected the Sword of Gryffindor, much to Rose's consternation. The others were speaking as well, and Rose quickly realized that that might be a problem during what was shaping up to be the fight of her life.

Drawing the sword from the hat, she gasped. The thick blade was a dark steel, curving gently at the point, its length inscribed with flowing Arabic script atop a simple Celtic design. The guard was inlaid with green jewels set in polished steel. The green on silver look, more than any other single feature of the blade, identified its owner - for such a blade could have but one origin.

 _The stupid hat just gave me the Blade of Slytherin!_ That, at least, shut them up.

The basilisk was entering the Chamber, now, and Rose saw through squinted eyes just how massive the beast truly was. Without prompting, Fawkes moved to strike the serpent in its deadly eyes, earning shouts of rage from Tom. She could hear the basilisk as it screamed its own anger at the phoenix, but the damage had been done - the beast was now blinded.

That didn't stop a swipe of its tail from knocking her down, catching her on the wrong side of the pillar. Scrambling, sword in hand, Rose hid behind another pillar. Again the blind beast lunged toward her, and she dodged away just in time.

 _Keep coming, that's it,_ Rose thought.

 _Wait for it,_ came Spellforged's voice.

 _I know, dammit!_ Rose replied. Another strike from the basilisk, this time missing her by inches. She covered her face to protect from the debris, but the beast must have heard her grunt of pain. It began to turn, weaving in and out of the remaining columns. Watching its receding form, Rose noticed two columns at the end that seemed to be closer together. _Would they hold?_

She was up and moving before the basilisk could zero in on her position. Tom's shouts of "Kill the girl!" did nothing to aid his servant, and Rose noticed the basilisk slowing down, as if uncertain where she was. When she reached the narrow pillars, she paused. This was a gryffindor maneuver in every way, and the fact that she actually held Slytherin's Blade just made the whole thing that much more ridiculous.

Rose found herself grateful that no one would ever see this. "Oi!" she shouted. "You missed me!"

The basilisk snarled at her, the creature's words blurring into incoherent rage. The voices in her mind were only a little bit calmer.

 _Rose,_ she heard Spellforged say. _Tell me you didn't just taunt a thousand year old basilisk._

 _Alright, I won't tell you that,_ she replied, bringing the sword to the ready. She had only one shot at this. She could see the blind snake now, bringing its great mass toward her. The debris from its earlier strikes helped her now, as the basilisk had to weave in and out of the ruined stone, thus slowing its progress.

 _Good,_ she thought to herself. She heard the warning hiss, saw the great mouth open wide, and felt the stone underneath her feet rumbling as the beast surged forward - only to slam into the narrow pillars. Its jaws were wedged into the stone, and there was no way to get the leverage needed for the beast to free itself.

Knowing that this was her shot, Rose struck, driving the Blade of Slytherin up into the roof of the creature's mouth. It struck home, the steel destroying the creature's brain. Stepping back, she saw the basilisk begin its death throes, and found herself smiling at Tom's rage.

The burning in her arm would not be denied, however. Looking down, she saw the long red scratch that marked where one of the creature's fangs had cut her.

oOoOoOoOo

In his bed, in the Ravenclaw dorm, Harry Spellforged gritted his teeth. He did not get the full effect of the venom, nor of the pain that came with it. But he got enough.

In a window sill, overlooking the sunset, Seeker Potter gritted his teeth as the pain struck him.

Susan Bones looked up from her textbook when she sensed Chaser Potter tensing up. Her friend was gritting his teeth, as if he were in pain. _What happened?_

In the Gryffindor common room, Marigold Potter closed her eyes. She did this quite a bit, they knew, when she needed to gather her thoughts, and so it went unremarked upon by her friends. None of them noticed the tear rolling down her cheek.

oOoOoOoOo

"So, the blood traitor defeats the Master's beast with his own blade." Tom seemed to be shaking his head in disgust. "At least old Finola had one last bite left in her. You will be gone in moments, I'm afraid." Again the voice was taunting, and the arrogance grated at Rose's nerves.

She had made her way back to Ginny's side, the Blade still in her hand. "Still pretending, Tom," she said quietly. Just a few more steps now. The sad song of the phoenix was soothing her, at least enough to finish her task.

"You will never be my equal," the shade spat at her, no longer hiding behind the cool and collected Slytherin pretense.

"I don't need to be," she muttered, her eyes falling to the diary.

Tom saw what she was doing an instant before she did it. She lifted her arm, limply, as if stumbling forward, before planting the point of the blade on the diary. The mix of venom, blood, and Slytherin's own enchantments (whatever they may have been) was enough, and the book started to bleed a thick, black ichor.

"No!" shouted Tom. Ginny's yew wand came up, and a blasting curse had left it even before the diary screamed. Rose fell backwards onto her rear, knowing that she had no way to block anything.

Fawkes flew in front of her, intercepting the attack, and burst into a ball of flame. Rose sighed, thanking the phoenix for saving her once again. The burning was intensifying now, and she lay back onto the stone. _Not long now,_ she thought.

She felt the warmth above her, before she felt the pinpricks on her chest. Opening her eyes, she saw the maimed phoenix looking at her, one wing broken at an odd angle, and the other missing entirely. It began to weep, the phoenix tears seeping into her wound, and where they touched her the burning dulled and disappeared. She ignored the bird's own blood as it dripped onto her. Reaching up with her left hand, she stroked the bird's feathers softly.

The phoenix song was the last thing she heard, before darkness finally took her.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Lots of moving parts here. Rest assured, I did not get my universes mixed up, nor is my math in error. All will be explained. Expect a longer AN next time - for now, we'll let this sit for a while.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	46. Cunning and Ambition

When Rose Potter opened her eyes, she saw the blue eyes of Joseph Hillyer looking down at her.

"Wha…?" she began, before the throbbing in her head silenced her. She placed an arm over her face, letting her eyes close again. "Bloody Hell."

A chuckle escaped from Lord Hillyer. "Just so, Rose." She heard him muttering, and recognized the incantations for routine diagnostic charms. "How do you feel?"

"Did someone get the number of that lorry?" was her response. That got another chuckle from Hillyer, who clearly understood the reference.

Rose opened her eyes and looked to her right when she heard the sobbing. Ginny Weasley had, mercifully, woken up after the arrival of the professors, and was now having the expected breakdown on the shoulder of a very uncomfortable Professor Snape. Dumbledore looked just as uncomfortable, and had offered his own shoulder for the girl, but Snape had been closer.

When Ginny realized what she had done, she would be horrified, but that would not happen until later - her need was much more immediate. Rose made eye contact with Snape, who managed to give her a bit of a glare. She shook her head slightly, to which he responded with an eye roll. He would play nice - though, she fully expected to pay for it later.

She had an odd sort of detente with her Head of House, something that the other four lacked. Rose believed that Snape approved of her as a Slytherin, even as he disapproved of her father. Perhaps her conduct over the past year and a half had shown him that she was her own person, and not a reflection of James Potter. Though she had only a mental image of her 'brothers', the fact that each of them was the spitting image of their father had to incense the Potions Master - and none of them had the advantage of wearing the silver and green.

Nor did that do anything to explain his ire towards Marigold. At first, she had thought that Snape may have had issue with their mother as well, but he had described them as friends. Maybe the two had had a different sort of relationship in Marigold's universe?

Regardless, it was probably only the Professor's grudging respect for her that kept him from scolding the youngest Weasley. Later, she would have to find a way to send this memory to her counterparts, for she would never forget it.

Fawkes was gone, it seemed, though Rose noticed that her robes were still wet with blood. She could not tell where her blood stopped and that of the basilisk started. Nor could she identify the blood of the phoenix. It had all mixed together, providing visual proof of just what sort of ordeal she had survived. When asked, Joseph said that Dumbledore had portkeyed the injured phoenix to his office, where the bird would have an early burning. Rose made a mental note to thank Fawkes for his aid, as she quite literally owed her life to the phoenix.

"Can you sit up, Rose?" asked Joseph. With a grunt and a groan, she took his hand and lifted herself up. Her wounds seemed to have been healed, but that did nothing to cure the soreness in her muscles and joints. She would be feeling the effects of the battle for days, it seemed.

Looking around the chamber, she saw the signs of that battle - the scorch marks surrounding the diary, the blood on the stone (hers and the basilisk's), the shattered debris. Headmaster Dumbledore was examining the beast itself, and looking quite pale while he did so.

No one had moved the sword from her side, so she allowed herself a moment to get a good look at the priceless blade. It was not a straight sword, as she might have expected, but a scimitar, its wide blade curving at the point. Green jewels adorned the hilt, each one seeming to catch the dim light of the chamber. The grip was of grey leather, and she recalled how comfortable it had felt in her hand. Indeed, the entire sword had felt much lighter in her hands than its size (and hers) would have suggested. She looked forward to learning just what enchantments Slytherin had placed on his sword.

Etched into its steel were two phrases. The first was a line of Arabic script, something she would have to have someone translate later. Below that she found a second line, obviously engraved into the blade long after the first. This second line was in a strange script she had never seen before. Despite that, something inside her was able to translate the text. At the back of her mind, she realized that this was some sort of written form of parseltongue. Perhaps the magic that allowed her to use that gift also protected the secret of this one? The second line was as simple as it was baffling, given what she knew of Slytherin.

 _ **Let their cunning guide their ambition, lest the cost grow too dear.**_

 _Spellforged is going to lose his mind over this,_ she thought to herself. That thought reminded her of Marigold's duel with the diary, months ago, and her reaction when their connection had been severed. She guided her thoughts to the link and said _I'm fine, Ginny's fine, I'll update you before long. Everything's OK._

The relieved thoughts from the other four Potters warmed her heart, and brought a soft smile to her face. Lord Hillyer saw this, and said nothing.

Rose saw that Ginny had calmed down somewhat, and was sitting on the edge of the stone platform. Snape sat beside her, continuing to run diagnostic charms over her. She saw now that it was not a raised altar, but simply a flat space a few steps higher than the main area of the chamber. Perhaps the space had always collected water, as it seemed to have done in recent years, and Slytherin wanted to have a dry area for some reason? There was no ritual markings, no rune stones set into the floor, leading Rose to believe it to be a matter of convenience and little else.

Headmaster Dumbledore was approaching, having gotten his fill of the great beast of Slytherin. Rose could tell that he was still pale, obviously troubled at the thought that such a creature had had the run of the school. When he drew near, his eyes went to the sword.

"Is that…?" He began. Nodding, Rose lifted the blade. Lord Hillyer, without prompting, conjured a thick cloth, which she used to wipe down the blade. Once it was clean of the blood and filth of Basilisk and diary alike, she held the blade up for Dumbledore's inspection.

She did not hand it over to him. He was not of Slytherin. Her eyes darted over to Professor Snape, who watched with interest. Would she have allowed him to hold it? She couldn't say. Something inside her made her protective of this particular sword, and she could not explain it.

"Remarkable," said Dumbledore quietly. "I wonder what it says."

Lord Hillyer spoke then, reciting a phrase in Arabic. Off the looks of the group, he smiled. "I believe it reads thus: 'I Belong to the Defender of the Innocent.'" He shared a look with Dumbledore. Both men then turned to Snape, who looked troubled.

Rose, in that moment, decided not to reveal the second line, or that she could read the text. Not yet, anyway. Snape had had enough shocks for one day.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose was as shocked to learn that Joseph Hillyer was a Parselmouth as Snape and Dumbledore had been. She had not known where the gift came from, nor had she researched the question, not wanting to draw attention to the ability. She recalled how the school had ostracized Seeker when his Parselmouth abilities became public, and did not relish a repeat of that situation. Being a slytherin with the skill would only make it worse.

It was impressive, though, that Hillyer was able to call for a staircase up to the school. The journey was made even easier when she and Ginny found themselves levitated up that staircase, the professors not wishing to have them exhaust themselves with the climb.

When they emerged into the school, they found Myrtle's bathroom - and thus confirmed Rose's earlier theory about the entrance to the Chamber. She also knew why Ginny had been there - she had been caught either coming or going, it seemed. Riddle had hinted that Ginny had tried to free herself by destroying the diary, though flushing it down the toilet had not done the job.

It was a good thing that Hillyer had known where to look for the entrance. As they entered the corridor, Rose found herself wondering if the other Lord Hillyers had taken up the search as well. Hers had said that he had come to the school hoping to get a look at some of the older blueprints kept in the Headmaster's archive, plans that wouldn't be found at the ministry. A wizarding architect by trade, he had wanted to see if he might notice something that others had missed. Turns out, he had - and a lucky thing, too, or else she and Ginny might have remained in the Chamber for quite a while before help arrived.

She asked Spellforged about it, and he said he would look into it. _Good enough for me,_ she had thought. _Going to rest now,_ she sent as they arrived at the infirmary.

oOoOoOoOo

The doors opened to reveal a crowd of worried adults, all staring at the two girls before them. It was only then that Rose realized what sort of sight they must be - a pale and shaken Ginny Weasley, her robes and hair askew, covered in dust and filth, standing next to the bruised and battered girl-who-lived, clad in blood-stained Slytherin robes and carrying a scimitar on her back.

Arthur and Molly Weasley moved first, wrapping their daughter in a hug, before ushering her over to one of the empty beds and an irritated Madam Pomfrey. As Ginny was being checked over, Arthur walked over to Rose, who had taken a seat on another of the beds. Rose had met Ginny's mum over the summer, if briefly, at Flourish and Blotts. She had not met the Weasley patriarch, however. Thus, she could not tell if his stiff formality was due to lingering worry over his daughter, distaste for slytherin (or, for whatever reason, for her personally), or out of misplaced propriety. She decided that she was weary of the whole pureblood dance, and cut straight to the important bit.

"She will be fine, Mister Weasley." said Rose. _That was it,_ she realized, as the man's shoulders seemed to relax instantly. _His concerns begin and end with his daughter._

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked her. "All we knew was that she had been taken."

Rose nodded. "The Headmaster will probably go over most of the details with you, but the most important part - for you, that is - is that Ginny acquired an empty diary at some point over the summer, likely as or just after we met Professor Lockhart at the bookshop." Arthur's eyes grew a bit wide at that, as he thought back to the altercation he had had with Lucius Malfoy.

"The diary was a powerfully dark artifact, layered with compulsions and crafted specifically to draw its victim in. Ginny found that when she wrote in the diary, the diary wrote back. They formed a bond, and she had a true companion with whom she could share her deepest secrets." Rose unstrapped the conjured scabbard from her back, laying the sword next to her as she sat back on the bed. "What she did not know was that the diary was influencing her, controlling her."

Arthur made the connection instantly. "The attacks."

"Yes," Rose agreed. "It was Ginny all along, but only as a puppet being controlled by the diary."

Mister Weasley's expression hardened. "I will need a name, Miss Potter."

"And you shall have it. But from the Headmaster, not me. Not here." She gestured at the room - at the Weasley brothers sitting quietly in the waiting area, hoping to see their sister, and at the professors speaking quietly near Madam Pomfrey's office. "Once you learn that name, I suspect you will agree that your daughter will need a mind healer."

Arthur looked worried, at that. "Is it as bad as that?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow, considering her response, before deciding to be blunt. "She effectively had the shade of a teenaged boy in her mind, controlling her and forcing her to attack her classmates. A boy who created the diary in the 1940's, and who later went on to become a mass murderer." She tried to give Mister Weasley a kind look, one of sympathy, and hoped that she was successful - he needed to understand where she was coming from. "I spoke to the thing only briefly, and _I_ plan to discuss it with someone. I guarantee that your daughter would benefit from the same."

The man looked back over to his daughter, being fussed over by his wife and the mediwitch. His frown hinted at his worry.

"I have enormous sympathy for your daughter's situation, sir. I know something of being a target for dark wizards, as you might recall," He looked back at her, shocked that she would bring _that_ up. "Accordingly, I insist that you let me cover any costs for the mind healer." Arthur looked unsure at that - he was a proud man, unused to taking what he saw as charity. _Fine._

"If you prefer," Rose continued, putting on her 'Heiress' voice, "I can simply claim a life debt between your house and mine, and use that to insist that you allow me to cover the costs for Miss Weasley's care." She leaned forward, speaking quietly. "I'd just as soon make arrangements without that, wouldn't you?"

Arthur was shocked at the generosity of this girl before him. He had not known quite what to expect, though both Ron and Molly had been surprised by her before. After a moment, he found himself nodding. "Heiress Potter, House Weasley acknowledges the debt, and will do as you say." He reached out his hand. When Rose took it, he paused, leaning closer. "If you ever need our help, you need only say the word."

Rose nodded at that - she had expected nothing less, having heard her counterparts get similar treatment from the Arthur Weasleys of their worlds. It was a constant that, in all worlds (or at least their five), Mister Weasley was a good man.

oOoOoOoOo

As the Weasley patriarch went back to his daughter's side, Rose saw the four Weasley sons approach. Ron, the only one of the four with whom she had spoken at any length, gave her a nod in greeting. The twins looked exhausted. The oldest - Percy, she thought - looked like he was trying to be a good brother to his sister, while keeping a close eye on his younger brothers as if he were in charge in his father's absence. The result was that he had not dealt with his worries, and did a poor job of helping his brothers deal with theirs.

"Gentlemen," she began. "Ginny will be fine." They had seen her walk in under her own power, of course, but their parents had said little else. Of the situation and the rescue, they knew nothing. Nor was Rose about to tell them - better if it came from their parents, if only to limit the rumors that would inevitably spring from this day.

Percy caught that she had addressed her comment to him, and nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Miss Potter, for helping to rescue our sister." His expression darkened a bit, then, and she saw his eyes dart to the Slytherin crest on her robes. It was a quick glance, but it was enough to tell her where his thoughts had gone. _A favor for a favor, that's how the snakes do things, isn't it?_ she lamented bitterly.

His next comment proved that she was right. "Is there anything I can do to repay you?" asked Percy. _Offering personally, so that his family isn't on the hook. Interesting…_ thought Rose. then her eyes went to the Prefect's badge on his robes, and she realized that she absolutely had a favor he could do for her.

"Actually, I do have a request, Mister Weasley." The twins shared a glance, and Ron's expression clouded. He had thought that she was different, but here she was trading favors for influence.

"Yes, Miss Potter?" asked Percy, rather more nervous now than when he had walked over.

"I have a list of three names. I have it on good authority that those three students, gryffindors all, were responsible for the attack on Astoria Greengrass last term. Alas, I cannot prove it, of course." Rose kept her tone light, but her eyes were locked on Percy's.

"I see," said Percy. "And you want what, exactly?"

Rose smiled at him, giving her best 'Pureblood Princess' look. "Why, nothing. I merely want to make sure that the prefects in your house, through you, are aware that those three are a risk. Observe them, and ensure they are disciplined as needs be."

"I won't do anything to anyone without proof." Percy said, affronted at the notion.

"Nor would I ask it of you, Mister Weasley. But if you do happen to see them acting against your house's honor, well, I would hope that you act as the circumstances dictate."

Percy stared at her. "So, you're asking me to do my job."

One of the twins patted him on the back. "Don't worry, brother of mine,"

The other followed suit. "You've been prefecting us into the ground all year."

"Doing your job,"

"Seems to be your speciality."

Rose couldn't help it. The mask fell, and she found herself laughing at the twins' antics. Ron joined her, as did the twins. Percy, shocking them all, even cracked a smile, before agreeing to her terms.

oOoOoOoOo

After chatting for a few more minutes, the Weasley brothers went back to the waiting area. As they departed, Rose made eye contact with Lord Hillyer, who gave her a nod. He remained locked in conversation with the Headmaster, Professor Snape, and now Professor McGonagall, who had arrived while she spoke with Percy.

It gave her a moment to consult the link. She closed her eyes, keeping half an ear on the room, in case anyone else came in.

 _Take my advice,_ she began. _Have someone else deal with the basilisk._

 _You sound alright,_ said Chaser.

 _I probably am,_ Rose conceded. _But I know that everything will be sore tomorrow._

 _I'd ask about the chamber,_ began Spellforged, _but it seems that they will need us to get into it, if what you said about needing a parselmouth to open the staircase was correct._

 _True,_ Rose said. _But it turns out that Lord Hillyer is also a parselmouth. Says he learned it from a visiting instructor at Ilvermorny, a Cherokee wizard whose name I didn't catch._ Having been told that parseltongue was inherited, this came as a surprise to her - and, from their reactions, to the others as well.

 _I wonder if our Hillyers share that trait?_ Seeker asked. _Maybe I'll hiss at him next time we speak._

 _Why don't you go ask him?_ Wondered rose. _Mine came to the school to look over old blueprints. Surely yours would have done the same? The attacks have been identical, wouldn't the response be as well?_

 _See, I thought about that,_ said Seeker. _But when I checked the conference room you mentioned, there was no one there._

Marigold spoke up, then. _He wasn't in mine, either. We did get that shipment of potions you mentioned, though, and the note along with it. Just like you said._

 _We all did,_ confirmed Spellforged. _But if Lord Hillyer was at Rose's Hogwarts, and none of the others… what changed? Why would he act differently there?_

 _The only difference I can think of is that her diary was still in play,_ said Chaser. _But there's no possibility that he would know that, is there? Even if the Goblins told our Hillyer, how would hers know of it?_

 _That's the question, isn't it?_ Rose wondered. Tom Riddle's words came back to her, then. He had called her the 'Sixfold Witch', clearly having seen her end of the link. _Sixfold_ , though, implied that there was someone else in their link. She could feel the connections, the magic that bound them, and she knew beyond any doubt that she linked to only four others - her three brothers and Marigold. But even the notion that their link was insecure was a frightening one.

Her thoughts went back to Marigold's encounter with the diary, where the diary had salivated over her ability to summon the magic of five others. She had dismissed it at the time, but now it took a more sinister meaning - that diary had sensed another connection as well.

The sorting hat's words to her came to her mind, then. "I daresay you would be the most loyal of them, to one who proved themselves worthy of your trust." These four people, these Potters, whom she would never meet, from worlds she would never see, these four were the ones who had proven themselves. These four, above all others, were the ones she trusted. Not even Daphne, her sister in all but blood, would ever come before them.

She had a family. They were it.

And still, _still_ , she found herself silent. Riddle had revealed something critical to her, and to Marigold. Her sister had not realized it, but she had. It posed a risk to everything, to each and every one of them. And if he could sense it, even as a spectre, could others?

What horrified her, beyond reason, was that she had no idea what to do about it.

So she kept her own counsel, as she always had, and let the others try to discern the nature of Lord Joseph Hillyer. Their voices still in her mind, she carefully opened her eyes - and watched as the Potter Proxy had an animated discussion with Dumbledore.

She had trusted him with the destroyed diary, after he suggested taking it to the Goblins for testing - honestly, that was probably what he was discussing with the Headmaster. The one she carried with her was a duplicate, the result of a quick _gemino_ charm. Had that been a mistake? The diary had gone to the Goblins in the other four worlds, why not here? Destroyed, perhaps it would yield different clues than it would intact.

The man did not strike her as an enemy, but neither was he one of the five. He was not family. And whatever else was true, she knew this - he came here, to help - but none of _his_ counterparts did the same. _Why?_

oOoOoOoOo

Rose was shaken from her thoughts by the doors to the infirmary, as they opened to admit Lucius Malfoy. The man walked with his trademark cane, and had an air of triumph. Hillyer had mentioned that the board was meeting today, which would explain his smug grin.

 _Lord Malfoy just arrived,_ Rose sent to the link. They had discussed how to deal with the man at length, once they made the connection between Dobby and the Malfoy family. Spellforged had suggested a little charm called the _Interdictus_ , which would signal the Goblins to close the Malfoy vaults and confiscate all assets.

 _That might be overkill,_ Marigold had responded. The fact that none of the rest of them had that sort of authority took that off the table as well. Spellforged had pouted for only a moment, arguing that the look on the man's face would be worth it. She couldn't disagree there.

Rose had argued for a more measured approach. After all, she had to live with Draco in her house, and had just gotten him to start behaving a bit. _It would be a shame to have to kill him,_ she had reasoned.

 _Would it? I mean, really, would it, though?_ Chaser had asked, getting chuckles from everyone.

"Headmaster," said Lucius Malfoy, as he walked over to the Professors. Hillyer stood nearby, and Rose saw his eyes dart over to her briefly. _Was that a hint?_ She wondered. Slowly, she stood up, strapping Slytherin's Blade onto her back once more. She still wore the robes she had had on in the Chamber, but the blood did not bother her.

"Ah, Lucius, my boy, how was your meeting?" Dumbledore responded, his cheerful attitude at odds with the way his hand stayed near his wand.

"The Governors demand to know what has happened, Headmaster Dumbledore. Based on your report, they will take action to bring the school back under control." Rose could hear the victory in Malfoy's voice - he assumed that he had already won. _Not very cunning, my lord,_ she thought.

"Well, then, no need to delay the good news. You, and the Governors, will be pleased to learn that the Beast of Slytherin has been dealt with, and the two missing students rescued. Both have suffered no permanent damage." He gestured to Madam Pomfrey's office. "And thanks to the generosity of House Potter, we have a supply of Mandrake Extract on hand. The petrified students will be restored to health and mobility within the next forty-eight hours."

Malfoy, to his credit, did not look annoyed that the students had survived - even though Dumbledore's removal would be assured if they had. "I'm glad to hear that the girls will recover. Of course, this means that you know who has claimed to be the Heir of Slytherin? Who has been attacking your school, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore paused briefly, wondering how much to tell. That gave Rose her moment, and she inserted herself into the conversation. "It was a student, Lord Malfoy, controlled by a powerfully dark artifact."

Malfoy looked over to her, his eyes widening at the sight of a sword on the girl's back, though he clearly failed to recognize just _which_ sword she carried. "Is that so? Surely, a student bringing such an artifact into the school should be expelled immediately?"

"You'd think that, yes," Rose said, agreeably. "Except that this artifact seems to have exerted more control over the victim than just a compulsion charm." She nodded to Lord Hillyer. "Indeed, several have suggested that the artifact could be compared to the _Imperius_."

"It is no matter," said Malfoy, his polite air vanishing. "That student put all of the children at risk, including my son. Miss Potter, that student should be expelled."

Rose met the eyes of Lord Malfoy, and gave him her best sneer. "No witch or wizard should be held accountable for the deeds forced upon them by those more powerful than they are. Their crimes must fall to the one who held them under his thrall."

Malfoy's eyes grew wide in shock - as did Dumbledore's. Hillyer just grinned, fighting the urge to chuckle.

"You _dare?"_ hissed Malfoy.

"It is a horrible thing, Lord Malfoy, to wake up at the end of the day and realize the deeds done in your name. To realize that your house, your honor, were all used as nothing more than tools for a more powerful wizard and his dark whims. To learn that your father's last years were spent in the same yoke that you felt for close to a decade." Her eyes narrowed, but her tone conveyed sympathy. "By all accounts, Abraxas Malfoy was a man of honor. When the Dark Lord _imperiused_ him into taking the mark, he began a decades long rape of the Malfoy legacy. Voldemort did his level best to take everything from your family, even going so far as to take the son when the father died."

Malfoy stood there, mouth open in shock. _How DARE she?_

Rose's voice grew quiet, even as she became aware that every ear in the infirmary was listening to her. "Lord Malfoy, surely you of all people must understand the necessity of forgiving those whom dark wizards sought to control?"

She saw the man's hand as it tightened on the cane. His pale skin was reddening by the moment. Briefly, Rose found herself wondering if he might explode. _Good thing we're in an infirmary._

The moment passed, however, as Malfoy realized that he had no play here. His attempt to get Dumbledore fired was gone with the threat to the school, and discrediting the Weasleys could not happen without discrediting himself as well, seeing as how the Potter girl had tied his _imperius_ defense to these attacks.

"I…. shall be pleased to report to the board, then." Malfoy responded, almost through clenched teeth. "Good day." With that, he turned and left the infirmary as rapidly as he could.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward, then. "Why did Miss Potter's words anger him so?" she asked.

Lord Hillyer grinned. "Rose quoted Malfoy's speech word for word, from his trial - the day when he convinced the Wizengamot that he had been under the _Imperius_. He did not enjoy having his words thrown in his face, did he?"

"Quite," Dumbledore said, thoughtfully. "She all but accused him of lying. A bold move, that, and an effective one, as it kept his attention away from Miss Weasley."

As they continued the discussion, none of them noticed Rose's departure from the infirmary.

oOoOoOoOo

"Lord Malfoy!" Turning, Lucius saw Rose Potter following him down the corridor. Maintaining his air of politeness, Malfoy waited until she stood next to him before speaking.

"Miss Potter," he sneered. "Haven't you had a busy enough day?"

"It would seem not, sir." She handed over the duplicate diary. "You left this behind, Lord Malfoy."

He took the book without thinking, then saw the cover, with his Master's name in its gold lettering. His eyes went to the gash burned in the cover, and the blackened marks surrounding it. No magic remained in the book, even he could tell that the thing was as inert as any muggle diary.

His eyes went back to Rose. "Dobby!" he called.

"Dobby serves his Master?" replied the elf, appearing beside Lord Malfoy.

"Take this to my study." Malfoy said, handing the book over to the elf. His eyes remained on Rose, and so he did not see Dobby notice the sock sticking out of the pages of the diary.

"Master has given Dobby clothes?" Dobby looked up, his large eyes watering. "Dobby is free?"

Malfoy looked down, and saw the sock. Looking back at Rose, he saw her smile at his utter rage. _How DARE she?_ He found himself thinking, once again. This girl had gone too far, now. He twisted the head of his cane.

"You've cost me my servant!" He hissed, angrily. His wand came out, the killing curse on his lips. Such was his rage that he forgot all about the free elf standing next to him.

A wave of force struck him then, sending him backwards. He did not go flying down the corridor, for he and Rose were side-by-side when he attacked. No, Dobby sent him directly into the stone walls of the corridor. Rose winced at the sickening _crack_ of the man's shoulder.

"You shall not harm Rose Potter!" the elf shouted.

Her own wand out now, she stepped carefully toward the fallen wizard. "You should be more careful, Lord Malfoy." She kicked his wand away from his injured arm as she approached.

"Potter," he spat. "Someday you're going to come to a sticky end. Just like your mudblood of a mother." The venom in his voice was obvious, even as Rose discounted it. She knew where his loyalties truly were, or at least she did now. The man was in a great deal of pain, of course he'd call her mother a mudblood.

She wasn't going to take it personally. After all, her quarrell wasn't with Malfoy, but with his master. A man named Tom Riddle.

"Maybe," she said, leaning close. "Slytherin's monster certainly put in a good effort. I stabbed it in the head for its trouble." She placed a hand on his injured shoulder, leaning on it a little and smiling when he winced. "Now, that snake needed to be stopped, but I didn't really have any feelings about it one way or the other." She pressed harder, and brought her voice to a whisper, so that only the writhing man could hear.

"So what do you think I'd do if you really pissed me off?"

Malfoy's eyes met hers, and she was pleased to see what she expected - fear. Before he could say anything else, footsteps approached from the direction of the infirmary.

"I believe Lord Malfoy broke his collarbone, Madam Pomfrey," she said as the mediwitch came near. Snape helped her lead the now very quiet Lord Malfoy back to the infirmary. As she watched them go, Lord Hillyer walked up to her.

"A dangerous enemy to make, Rose." His tone showed he clearly approved.

"Perhaps," she replied. "Though the same could be said in reverse."

Hillyer nodded. "This is also true." he agreed.

She shrugged. "He walked in and attacked whomever he could. When he failed to move Dumbledore, he went after Ginny. When that failed, he went after me. He had no real plan, he just reacted." Rose smiled at her Proxy. "Whereas I had a plan from the start."

"The diary," Hillyer said.

Rose nodded. "And the sock." She chuckled, then. "Know thy enemy, Lord Hillyer." With that, she turned and walked back to the infirmary, a wide-eyed elf following in her wake.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **As with much of this second year, Rose Potter is the gift that keeps on giving - as Lord Malfoy learned, to his dismay. That she can find ways to be both more subtle and more direct, and do both _at the same time_ , just hammers home what a delight she is to write. Even after the day she's had - stunned, assaulted, injured, etc - she still had the presence of mind to get Percy on the #justiceforAstoria train. **

**Thank you for your continued feedback. Your reviews of the Basilisk sequence in particular really made my day - that was one that I worried about. Of course, so was this chapter, so we'll see. In any event, I'm thrilled that so many of you are reading and enjoying this story.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	47. Secrets and Memories

The five had discussed Rose's encounter with the basilisk, followed by her encounter with Lord Malfoy, all the way through dinner. Eventually, she had told them all to sod off and gone to sleep in the infirmary, leaving the remaining four to consider how to deal with their own beasts of Slytherin.

As they talked, they quickly came to the consensus that no, they did not want to go up against a twenty-meter long basilisk if they could avoid it. It was likely that they would need to open the path to the Chamber, this was true, but nothing at all said that they needed to go further than the entrance. Moreover, if any of them suggested such a plan to the professors, chances were good that they would be forcibly kept away from the battle.

No, the basilisk would be the Headmaster's worry.

"Or the Headmistress'," Chaser had replied.

"True, true," said Spellforged. "From how you describe her, she sounds quite similar to our Albus Dumbledores, though."

"Does she have a bunch of names?" asked Marigold.

Chaser's amusement carried over the link. "Headmistress Ariana Kendra Wulfric Brianna Dumbledore," he recited. When he heard the others laugh at the name, he found himself chuckling in turn. "Why?"

It was Seeker who answered him. "Ours is Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

"Supreme Mugwump of the ICW," added Marigold.

"Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot," Spellforged chimed in.

"And Order of Merlin, First Class." finished Seeker.

Chaser couldn't help but laugh. "The more things change, the more they stay the same." he told them.

oOoOoOoOo

The three Headmasters (and one Headmistress) did not need much in the way of convincing before they agreed to deal with the basilisk. As it happened, each had already made the connection between Moaning Myrtle and Myrtle Warren, and that made the girl's bathroom a likely target for the Chamber's entrance.

The Headmistress had actually invoked her authority over the castle's ghosts to summon Myrtle to her office, where they had a chat. When Chaser asked about it later, the Headmistress said that "The girl just needed a good cry, apparently." From that day forward, Myrtle would always refer to Headmistress Dumbledore as 'Gran,' which amused the five to no end.

Myrtle, too, confirmed that a girl had been sneaking into the loo and hissing at a particular sink, revealing a staircase that closed behind her.

Lord Hillyer's role in convincing Dumbledore became clearer that week, when he was invited to join the professors in their trip to the Chamber. Apparently, Dumbledore had congratulated him on his selection as the architect of the new ICW Atrium, an award he had received in all five worlds. When they got into a talk about the intricacies of modern wizarding architecture, Dumbledore got the idea to ask about hidden spaces in old castles. Hillyer had chuckled and asked if they were referring to the Chamber of Secrets? After that, asking them to come in and look at maps was natural.

Rose wondered what had gone differently with her Hillyer. Maybe he had no Valentine's Day plans, and decided to visit the castle a day early. Maybe the other Hillyers had partners or spouses that hers lacked. Maybe hers was closer to Hermione's demeanor than the others, and could not wait to do that sort of research.

 _All good questions,_ Spellforged had replied.

oOoOoOoOo

Rose had spent the week listening as the others described their worlds' plans for dealing with the basilisk. Dumbledore, Hagrid, Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape would all join Lord Hillyer in a trip down to the Chamber. Hillyer would be there to open the Chamber door, and - if necessary - to open the beast's hiding place. If Dumbledore and Flitwick could place her back into some form of magical sleep or stasis, then a team of handlers would be brought in to remove her from the school.

If not, then the professors would transfigure something that would secure the basilisk in place long enough for it to be killed. Hagrid was there with several roosters at the ready. Contrary to popular belief, the sound of a rooster's cry would _not_ actually kill a basilisk dead. It did, however, cause severe disorientation - enough to halt an attack, for example. More importantly, it triggered a reflex in the basilisk that forced it to close its eyes - a useful defensive strategy.

Between Dumbledore and McGonagall, both of whom were some of the most respected Transfiguration Masters and Mistresses in recent memory, the task should be simple. The addition of Professor Knight in Chaser's world would help, as well, as she too held her mastery in the subject. There would be plenty of rubble to transfigure, if Hillyer's guess was correct (and Rose could confirm that it was).

Professor Lockhart graciously volunteered to stand watch in Myrtle's bathroom with Seeker, Spellforged, and Marigold respectively. If Hillyer were injured, only a parselmouth could open the entrance and allow the team to escape. Lockhart was there as the last line of defense, should the unthinkable happen.

All three Lockharts had the same line. "If your courage should fail, dear friends, ours will carry the day." Marigold remarked that if Snape's eyes had rolled any harder they would have left his skull and made their way down the corridor. Chaser, for his part, was thankful that he would be waiting with Professor Vector instead.

Just to be safe, the trip to the Chamber was planned for Friday afternoon, after the last class of the day. Students would be kept in their dormitories, and the elves would serve dinner in the common rooms. No one was told what would be happening, except for the Potters and the Professors. But everyone could feel the buildup of tension in the school, and when the lockdown was announced, that tension only grew.

Chaser had suggested that the elves offer a more playful menu, including some muggle favorites that had been suggested over the years. Not to be left out, Rose suggested some traditional wizarding treats as well. The result was a meal that featured pizza alongside pumpkin pasties, fish and chips served beside cauldron cakes, and so on.

As a measure designed to keep the students from worrying about the danger beneath the school, it worked. Even the Slytherins ended up enjoying the change of pace, though few would admit it. The elves later reported that they had served more pizza to the snakes than any other house, which amused the five.

oOoOoOoOo

That tension did not carry over into Rose's world, for the Headmaster had already announced that the kidnapped students had been rescued and the danger neutralized. The hundred points he awarded to Slytherin was met with grumbles from the rest of the great hall, as one might expect. What it also did was signal that Rose Potter had, somehow, had a hand in ending the threat.

At Rose's request, seconded by the family, Ginny's involvement in unleashing the basilisk was not mentioned openly. The fifty points earned by Gryffindor for her efforts at ending the threat (by fighting the diary's influence) were awarded in Dumbledore's office, so as to minimize Ginny's role. It was a validation she needed, though - and one that her mind healer, a woman named Madam Cornwall, recommended.

Rose was relieved that she was done with the Chamber for a while. The stress of knowing that the diary was still out there, waiting to attack, had been more draining on Rose than she liked to admit. She did not let her guard down, necessarily, for she was in Slytherin - it was simply not done. But she could relax a little bit.

Professor Lockhart's request that she stay behind after that Thursday's defense class was a surprise to her, though in hindsight it should not have been.

Daphne and Tracey waited out in the hallway, not expecting Rose to be very long. What could Lockhart possibly want with her?

"Miss Potter," he began. "The Headmaster has briefed me on your encounter with the basilisk, and might I say - beautifully done, my dear!" Lockhart actually clapped his hands together before bowing in her direction. In doing so, he missed her look of complete annoyance. "And to do it all with the legendary Blade of Slytherin, well. Miss Potter, the book just writes itself."

 _What_.

"Ah yes," he continued, leaning against the front of his desk. "The Dance of the Snake and the Serpent's Blade." He looked at her, his eyes meeting hers. "Has quite a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"It's not a book I plan to write, Professor," said Rose, as she stood. She cursed at herself for sitting in the front row, that day, for she was only a few feet away from the professor.

"Ah, but Miss Potter," Lockhart continued, waving his wand. She heard the door lock behind her. "You must consider the public, don't you think? This is a tale for the ages, and it demands to be told." Rose found that she could not move from the spot, and renewed her cursing.

 _What's wrong?_ She heard Seeker ask.

 _Lockhart immobilized me,_ she replied. Without further comment, she felt the trickle of magic from the link, as Seeker reached out with their magic to somehow _finite_ the hex.

"Now," Lockhart said, eyeing her. "Let's see how you did it." He aimed his wand at her, and she heard him cast a compulsion. The magic settled over her, and she felt the need to speak the truth. He chuckled at her reaction. "Veritaserum, it isn't, but for my purposes it will do."

"You've fucked up, Professor," Rose said, spitting the title in his face.

 _The compulsion's working, it seems,_ thought Chaser.

"Oh, I don't think so." Lockhart grinned at her. "This is not my first time, Miss Potter. Now, explain to me how you found the Chamber of Secrets."

Rose sneered at him. "An extradimensional version of myself discovered that Moaning Myrtle was the first recorded victim of Slytherin's basilisk under the control of Lord Voldemort, who killed her while he was a student in Slytherin house."

Lockhart stared at her. Then he cast the compulsion again. "Must not be working," he muttered.

 _Options?_ She sent to the link.

 _Well…_ began Spellforged.

 _I know, I know. Would if I could._ Rose chuckled a bit at that thought. The compulsion forced her to be truthful, didn't it? _If only I could reach my knife…_

Lockhart saw her chuckle, and frowned. "It seems we will have to try this another time, Miss Potter. But don't worry, I know just how to make sure we have a fresh start." Again his wand came up. " _Obliviate_."

oOoOoOoOo

Rose found herself being helped up by Professor Lockhart. She was still gathering her thoughts as he chattered on about making sure she was alright. Her attention was not on him, though, but on the thoughts coming from the link.

 _Rose, he just tried to get the story of the basilisk and the chamber out of you._ Spellforged's very slight goblin accent had slipped, such was his anger. _Then he obliviated you._

She paused, thinking back over the past few minutes, and realized that she remembered them. Whatever Lockhart thought he had obliviated, the memory of this meeting wasn't it. _Are you sure? I remember it._

 _No,_ came the voice of Marigold, and she too was seething with anger. _We remember it._

 _I can't explain it,_ said Chaser. _We felt the memory magic as it hit you. Then we saw your memories, what he was trying to take, almost like a recording._

 _I think you panicked, and your magic sent us a copy of the memory,_ said Spellforged. _Then we sent it back._

"Feeling better, Miss Potter?" asked Lockhart, his hand on her elbow as she regained her balance.

"Oh," she said with her best feigned smile. "I think so." She looked up at the Professor. " _Stupefy._ "

Her wand had been pointed at the Professor's legs, but the stunner was effective nonetheless. Lockhart crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Rose stood there, looking at him for a moment, her wand still pointed down at his now still form.

 _Rose,_ began Seeker, worriedly.

She sighed. "I know, I know." she muttered. With a quick charm, she unlocked the door to the classroom, allowing a very worried Daphne and Tracey to enter. What surprised her was that they had Snape with them as well.

"Miss Potter?" he asked, seeing Lockhart on the floor.

"Unless you need a rat for potions ingredients, Professor," said Rose with a grin, "This one will need to be given to the aurors."

oOoOoOoOo

The five were nervous about the next day's excursion to the Chamber. No one wanted to risk being alone with Professor Lockhart, not after Rose's encounter with the man. That they could withstand an obliviate charm unscathed was remarkable, and would bear further discussion later, but until they could control this new ability it was unwise to rely on it.

So, for Spellforged, the decision was a simple one - keep Lockhart from landing the charm in the first place.

Gilderoy Lockhart, meanwhile, had not forgotten Harry Spellforged's performance at the Dueling Club, with that fearsome Goblin blade of his. He wasn't going to give the ravenclaw a chance to defend himself. All he needed to do was obliviate the memory of his being in the restroom waiting for the professors. Then, when the group returned from the Chamber, a quick charm on each would add him to their memories of the battle.

There was no way he could remove all memory of the fight from the entire group. And, truthfully, who would believe a story where one person fought off a sixty-foot basilisk single-handed? Once the book came out, he would be seen as the leader of the hard-fought battle against Slytherin's beast - back up by the slightly altered accounts of the Headmaster and the others.

Maybe they'd give him another Order of Merlin?

He waited for Spellforged to turn away from the entrance, before raising his wand. He did not expect his memory charm to encounter a shield, however.

"Thank you, Professor," was the last thing Gilderoy Lockhart heard before he was stunned. Spellforged had wanted to wait for the spell, so that it would show up on the Professor's wand. Hermione and Luna had been watching from underneath the invisibility cloak, and were both glad that they had not been needed. Luna, for her part, was careful to step on Lockhart's wrist when she left, not wanting to be there when Madam Pomfrey arrived.

Seeker did the same as Spellforged had, except that it was Ron and Hermione waiting nearby under his cloak. Their presence (and their shield) was unnecessary, as Lockhart's _obliviate_ actually missed Seeker's head by quite a few inches. It was enough evidence for the aurors, however, and the three were not going to give the Professor another shot. Lockhart quickly fell to three stunners.

Marigold's backup team was Ron and Neville. The five were delighted to hear that her shield had been powerful enough to reflect the _obliviate_ back to its source. The two stunners were merely insurance. Neville's tripping jinx, on the other hand, was the undisputed winner of the encounter, for it pulled Lockhart's feet out from under him. The satisfying crack of the man's head against a sink had a musical quality to it, according to Marigold.

The fact that it happened seconds after a botched memory charm? That sort of damage was beyond Madam Pomfrey's skill, and so the Professor was sent to Saint Mungo's, where aurors would wait for him to wake up, if and when.

Chaser summed it up for the group. _Couldn't happen to a nicer fraud,_ he mused. He wondered about his own Lockhart, and how he had essentially been scared straight. _Seems like he made the right call,_ thought Chaser.

oOoOoOoOo

Once the battle was concluded, each Lord Hillyer invited them down to the Chamber. Only Spellforged accepted - Seeker and Chaser had an early morning the next day, as both planned to try and get a look at the Ravenclaw team's gameday practice, as it was their turn to play against Slytherin that weekend. Marigold, despite her annoyance with the man, wanted to go with Lockhart to the hospital wing and see just how badly she had wrecked the Professor.

It wasn't personal - she was genuinely curious. Spellforged joked that she would be a fine healer someday. She didn't deny it - they had all heard her as she worked on Ginny that horrible night at the Burrow. They knew she had a gift for the discipline.

The Chamber was much as Rose had described it, except that it seemed a lot cleaner. There was less rubble around as well, owing to the more organized effort against the basilisk. Spellforged actually whistled when he saw the creature, pinned down by great stone arches.

Just behind the basilisk's head, there was a thick steel spike attached to the ceiling by a chain. When the basilisk seemed likely to escape, Professor McGonagall had transfigured part of the ceiling into a dense steel blade, and then let gravity pull it directly into the beast. The team made short work of it after that.

Lord Hillyer remarked that it was shame to slay such a magnificent beast, even as he acknowledged the necessity. Spellforged found himself nodding in agreement.

The Goblin in him couldn't leave without asking about the disposition of the carcass. As the beast had been slain by a team of school staff, the proceeds would be given to the school. Spellforged suggested, and Dumbledore agreed, that a portion should be set aside for the basilisk's victims - the petrified students, now and in the 1940's, and the family of Myrtle Warren. Each would get a percentage of the revenue from the sale.

Hillyer remarked that the hide would be useful material for armor, as it would block most low level spells. Harry offered to send an owl to his father and inquire as to artisans who might be able to work with basilisk skin.

Professor McGonagall asked what Lord Hillyer would do with his share, seeing as he was not a staff member. He asked if the school had replaced its training brooms since the turn of the century - and when he got little more than chuckles at the idea, offered his share to do precisely that.

It was while the professors were talking about the new brooms that Spellforged saw it. The wall opposite the stone face of Salazar Slytherin had writing etched into its surface, near the ceiling of the Chamber. It was such that you could only really see it when you got close, but it was obvious once you had the right angle to see.

 _This must be parselscript_ , Spellforged thought, as the meaning of the symbols came to him. He had never read this language before, but his magic knew it and fed the translation to him as he read. Idly, he wondered if the Nation's experts could read parselscript. _We'll have to see,_ he thought.

As the meaning of the engraving became clear, Spellforged found himself amazed. That such a secret had lain here for so long, undiscovered, was remarkable. _Did Voldemort find this?_ He wondered. _Unlikely._

He read the sentence again, and felt the magic pass over him. He realized, then, what had happened. It was the _Fidelius,_ it had to be - and Harry now knew the secret.

 **/Grok'Nargh/,** muttered Spellforged, invoking the Goblin's closest equivalent to Merlin. Lord Hillyer heard him, and walked over.

"Everything alright, Harry?" he asked. No one else had noticed them. Spellforged found that he was glad of that - this was not a secret he wanted revealed. Hillyer could read it, however, and Harry felt that he could trust the man. Saying nothing, he just pointed up at the engraving.

Hillyer's only reaction was a quiet "Jesus Christ."

Spellforged could understand the sentiment. If true, this answered questions that scholars had asked for centuries, even as it raised questions of its own. Questions such as how one maintained a _Fidelius_ for centuries, or how one hides something like this from the entirety of Wizarding Britain. The Chamber of Secrets was more aptly named than anyone had realized, it seemed.

He read the secret again, and wondered what Rose would make of it. He couldn't even pass the thought along to the link, such was the power of the _Fidelius_. He'd just have to send Rose down here and tell her where to look.

When she learned that _Salazar Slytherin's home is located on Gairsay Island,_ it would change everything.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Alas, poor Lockhart, we hardly knew ye, greedy bastard though you were. I couldn't let him go without sending at least one of him to Saint Mungo's, though - or two, rather, since Chaser's repentant Lockhart is working there now. Perhaps we'll see him sometime.**

 **Rose's experience with Ginny and the diary, and again with Lockhart, will be the topic of much discussion for the group as they move forward. Rose, especially, does not like someone getting the drop on her twice in one week. That her experience revealed a new dimension to the link and forewarned her counterparts about the defense professor's intentions is secondary, in her mind - for the end result could have been far worse. Expect some training montages over the summer.**

 **Gairsay Island is the home of Slytherin Manor in the excellent Dodging Prison and Stealing Witches, by LeadVonE. The Discord for that work has been invaluable to me in connecting with readers and writers alike, and in bouncing ideas back and forth. As delightful as it would be, NO - DP &SW is _not_ a world to which this story will connect. (Though, now that you mention it...)**

 **Thank you all for your reviews - I see them all, and cherish them, even if I don't reply immediately. Thank you especially to Gfish59 for their kind review, and for being this story's 500th follower.**

 **Also, 500 followers. What?! Madness. Thank you all.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	48. Stimulus and Response

Marigold Potter was surprised that it was Kingsley Shacklebolt who approached her first. It was the first time she had seen him in his auror robes - he had been dressed as a muggle security guard when they met in September at King's Cross Station. Now, the auror tiredly sat himself down in the waiting area of the hospital wing, putting his boots up on the small table.

Lord Hillyer was seated in Madam Pomfrey's office, being interviewed by another auror. He had already offered memories of the incident, and his position as a member of the Wizengamot and a sworn ally of Marigold's house made this a simple case - even when the 'victim' was also a member of the Wizengamot.

Truly, nothing involving Lucius Malfoy would ever be a simple case. Amelia Bones wanted this run by the book, especially since her goddaughter was involved. Minister Fudge had not yet put in an appearance, but it was certain that he would at some point.

All in all, it was a rubbish Sunday afternoon. Not at all how she had expected the day to go.

"So," began Shacklebolt. "Want to tell me your side of the story?"

oOoOoOoOo

The five had debated what to do about Lucius Malfoy for weeks now.

Spellforged had spent much of that time poring over his journal, comparing the list of what he knew about Malfoy's actions in each world with those of the others. Seeker had mentioned Daphne's earlier insight, and it had guided their thinking - "Who Benefits?"

In that light, and knowing what they knew, some questions could be answered.

The worry, of course, was whether those questions had the same answers in all five worlds. It was discussions like this one that gave Chaser a headache, and he said as much. No one could disagree.

In all five worlds, Ginny Weasley had begun writing in the diary shortly after the shopping trip to Diagon Alley. Thus, they felt comfortable saying that she must have received the diary during that trip. Rose had seen Malfoy place a book in Ginny's cauldron, and though the others recalled Malfoy making a snide remark about the Weasleys, none actually saw the same drop that Rose had. Still, it was about the only chance he would have had to make the pass.

In all five worlds, Lord Malfoy had had something of an altercation with Arthur Weasley, though some fights played out differently than others. In Chaser's world, for example, James Potter had been the one to hold Arthur Weasley's right arm back, rather than Percy. James may have delayed for a few seconds, giving Arthur just enough time to get a solid punch in on his opponent.

Each altercation lacked any measurable amount of subtlety and guile - as Rose had observed in her world, it was about the least Slytherin approach Malfoy could have taken. All five had done the same, which said quite a bit about Lord Malfoy, and not much for the virtues of Rose's house.

Then, there was Dobby. In each world, he was a Malfoy elf, and in each world he gave the same warnings. The attempts at preventing them from boarding the train, the bludger attack, even the hidden letters and presents over the summer - all had happened in much the same way. That Rose had gotten Malfoy to admit ownership of the diary, or at the very least to not dispute it, was as good as an admission of guilt as far as she had been concerned, but would not hold up at an inquiry.

It was enough, though, to convince the other four to have copies of the diary made. The goblins were still studying the dark artifact, and had been tight-lipped about what they were discovering. To his surprise, even Spellforged had not gotten an answer out of Director Ragnok. Fortunately, Lord Hillyer was able to talk the goblins into providing the duplicate, citing the need to track down the diary's origin.

Marigold questioned the need to confront each Malfoy. After all, she reasoned, Dobby's involvement proved that Lord Malfoy had been responsible for the diary, didn't it? Chaser responded that they still needed to be able to say that Malfoy had accepted the diary as his property, so that they could prove his involvement later. It wasn't enough to know it, they had to have proof from each world.

Rose could tell that Marigold was nervous about the possible danger - and if her own encounter was any indication, there would indeed be some risk. Once she managed to free Dobby, the elf would make sure she was safe - but that was less than reassuring to the gryffindor. Marigold had joked that it might help her confidence to carry the Shield of Gryffindor, but that might cause talk. Rose chuckled at the thought, before reminding her sister that she had been carrying the Blade of Slytherin, and it hadn't intimidated Lord Malfoy in the least.

"He probably didn't know what it was," remarked Marigold. That got another laugh from the slytherin.

The next meeting of the Hogwarts' Board of Governors was on March fourteenth. Seeker, Chaser, and Spellforged wanted to speak with Malfoy and offer him the diary, hopefully freeing Dobby and revealing that Malfoy's secret plan had not been as secret as he thought. If they could goad the man into an attack, perhaps in front of witnesses? So much the better.

"If he thinks he got away with this, he might try something more dangerous," Spellforged said.

Marigold was still hesitant, but went along with the plan - though she added a wrinkle of her own.

oOoOoOoOo

"Lord Malfoy, sir?"

Lucius Malfoy turned, and saw Harry Potter walking down the corridor. He leaned on his cane, waiting for the gryffindor to catch up. The boy's wand was not out, nor were there professors in sight. Malfoy had to wonder exactly what Potter was up to.

"Yes, Mister Potter?"

Seeker smiled up at him, doing his best to act like a second year gryffindor. "I was told that this was yours, sir." In his hand was the diary.

Malfoy took the leather book, looking it over briefly. Whatever magic had been present before, it was gone now - this diary was inert. But there, on the cover, was his master's name. _What went wrong?_ He wondered to himself.

"Dobby!" he called, keeping his eyes on Harry. With a soft pop, the elf appeared.

"Dobby serves his Master?" asked the elf.

"Take this to my study." Malfoy said, handing the book over to the elf. His eyes remained on Harry, and so he did not see Dobby notice the sock sticking out of the pages of the diary.

"Master has given Dobby clothes?" Dobby looked up, his large eyes watering. "Dobby is free?"

oOoOoOoOo

Chaser watched the anger play itself across Malfoy's face at the elf's joyous shouting. "You've cost me my servant, boy!" He went for his wand, and started to speak the killing curse.

When he compared notes later with the link that night, it seemed that Chaser's Dobby was much quicker than the others. Malfoy had barely gotten through "Avada" before Dobby had him sliding down the corridor, arse over teakettle. When Malfoy sat up and glared at the elf, he saw the ashen remains of his cane smoldering on the floor.

Dobby's large eyes blinked once at his former master. "No."

Having no other option, Malfoy stood and brushed himself off. "Your father will hear of this, Potter." spat Malfoy.

"I'm sure he will," replied Chaser. "As will my godmother." He tapped his temple with one finger. "Auntie Amelia just got a new pensieve, you see, and she'd just love to test it out on these memories."

He had not believed it possible, but Malfoy seemed to grow even paler at that. Without a word, he turned and walked away as fast as he could without running.

Later, Seeker grumped that he had been unable to threaten Malfoy with the DMLE. Chaser replied that he hadn't had to do much - his Dobby was a bloodthirsty little elf.

oOoOoOoOo

At the sound of his name, Lord Malfoy turned, and saw Harry Spellforged walking toward him. He leaned on his cane, waiting for the ravenclaw to catch up. The boy's wand was not out, nor were there professors in sight. Malfoy had to wonder exactly what Potter was up to.

Spellforged, for his part, wanted very badly to try out the _interdictus_ charm on the esteemed Lord Malfoy, and see how well he managed his political allies with no vaults. Without cause or authority, though, he couldn't take such a step. As far as Gringotts was concerned, Harry Spellforged was an apprentice - a good one, a respected one, but just an apprentice.

Even the son of the Director did not get to invoke his authority without cause.

Spellforged stopped at arm's length from Malfoy, and stood with an easy confidence that unnerved the man. "You misplaced this, I believe," he said. In his hand was the diary.

Malfoy took the leather book, looking it over briefly. Whatever magic had been present before, it was gone now - this diary was inert. But there, on the cover, was his master's name. _What went wrong?_ He wondered to himself. _And what did Potter know about it?_

"Dobby!" he called, keeping his eyes on Harry. With a soft pop, the elf appeared.

"Dobby serves his Master?" asked the elf.

"Take this to my study." Malfoy said, handing the book over to the elf. He kept his eyes on the boy in front of him, and did not see the glove in Dobby's hand.

When Dobby finally reacted, the shock clear in his voice, Malfoy's rage made itself known. Just as with his gryffindor brothers, Dobby blasted Malfoy down the corridor. Before Malfoy could get up, the head of his cane was pressed into his throat, and an angry Harry Spellforged was standing over him.

"Attacking a member of the Nation, Lord Malfoy?" Harry asked. "Not very cunning of you."

Lord Malfoy could do little more than sputter. His cane was not choking him, yet - but it would not take much more force to do the job. This boy had him entirely at his mercy, and he knew it.

Spellforged leaned closer, bringing his voice down to barely a whisper. He could not keep the grin off of his face as uttered what might be the Malfoy family motto, after Draco got done with it.

"Just wait until my father hears about this."

Malfoy paled, as his eyes grew wide.

Chuckling at the reaction his words had gotten, Spellforged stepped back, twirling the cane in his hand. Malfoy got to his feet, forcing himself not to put a hand on his undoubtedly bruised neck. He wanted to taunt the boy, perhaps with a comment about how his family members kept dying. But his eyes were not on his cane - they were on Potter's other hand, which had gone to his belt, and the knife visible there.

 _He'll learn his place,_ thought Malfoy. "My cane, Mister Potter."

To his surprise, Potter tossed it to him. Instead of catching it, Malfoy ducked, and the wooden cane clattered down the stone corridor. Turning his glare at the boy, Malfoy saw him grinning right back.

"My apologies," Spellforged said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Next time you try to curse a goblin, Lord Malfoy, it will cost you much more than an elf."

oOoOoOoOo

"Miss Potter," said Lord Malfoy. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

Marigold looked up, trying hard to keep her features neutral. "No, sir, we have not." She reached out with the diary, just as they had planned. "I was told that this was yours, Lord Malfoy."

Malfoy took the leather book from her hand, and she watched as he looked it over. His eyes narrowed slightly as he read the name imprinted in the cover - just enough of a reaction to prove to her that he knew exactly what that name meant, and to whom it had belonged.

As with his counterparts, he did not notice the thin sock tucked into the cover. When summoned, however, that sock was the first thing that Dobby found.

"Master has given Dobby clothes?" The elf said, shock evident in his tone.

Malfoy's anger was obvious. "You've cost me my servant!" His wand hand went to the handle of his cane, only to be caught in the grip of Lord Hillyer. Surprised, Malfoy looked at the shorter man - he hadn't even noticed his approach.

Marigold Potter had been nervous about confronting Malfoy - and so, had decided to bring backup. Hillyer's arrival at Rose's side, just after her Malfoy had stormed off, gave her the idea. One owl later, and she had the Potter Proxy on hand "to consult on house business."

"Enough, Lucius," said Lord Hillyer, his gloved hand tightening on Malfoy's.

"Let me go." said Malfoy, his tone promising violence. Marigold saw him wince as Hillyer's grip tightened even further.

"Are you going to walk away?" Hillyer asked, calmly.

"You think I would walk away before dealing with you?" Malfoy sneered. "You'll pay for this."

Hillyer looked at him evenly, his hand moving not one bit. Despite his best efforts, Malfoy seemed to be unable to shift the man's grip in the slightest.

"I rather think not," he answered. "Unless you'd like to explain how a dark artifact you own made its way into Hogwarts."

"Let go, and I'll show you." The bravado in Malfoy's voice was still there, despite the clear worry on his face. The Potter girl finding out, that was nothing - she was harmless, despite what she had done to steal his elf. Lord Hillyer, on the other hand, could cause trouble in any number of ways.

His bravado quickly drained away when Marigold heard a sickening _crack_. With a cry of pain, Malfoy dropped to his knees - and still, Lord Hillyer kept a hold of the man's hand.

Leaning closer, Hillyer said something that Marigold didn't quite hear. Whatever it was, though, it caused the former death eater to nod vigorously.

"Good," said Lord Hillyer, releasing Malfoy. With a whimper, the injured man cradled his hand to his chest.

"You broke my hand!" spat Malfoy.

"My word," was Hillyer's reply. "I should hope so, after that." He flexed his right hand, the one that had grabbed the hand of Lord Malfoy. "You should probably get that looked at."

oOoOoOoOo

Shacklebolt found himself shaking his head in disbelief. He did not know what worried him the most - that Lord Malfoy had actually been prepared to attack a second year, or that Lord Hillyer had stopped him, or that the girl-who-lived had felt the need to stand up to one of the more powerful members of the Wizengamot.

Madam Pomfrey had given him the details on Malfoy's injuries, off the record. His hand had nearly been crushed, the bones broken to such a degree that the medi witch had initially not believed Malfoy's accusations. Then Lord Hillyer confirmed that yes, he had prevented his esteemed colleague from making a mistake and attacking a student, and that he may have been overzealous in his defense of a daughter of the house to which he was sworn.

When asked why he had taken such a drastic step against Malfoy, Hillyer only smiled and said that he had some history with the former death eater, and that he would not apologize for taking the threat against the girl-who-lived seriously. "After all," he had reasoned, "What if Lord Malfoy were under the _imperius?_ "

Marigold's account matched her proxy's, leaving Malfoy with little more to do than grumble. The Headmaster, mindful of Minister Fudge's close ties with the 'victim', had actually summoned Director Bones, in an effort to head off any premature reactions - and the Director had brought him in. His only mandate was to document everything - which he had.

As Marigold Potter left to return to her dormitory, Shacklebolt looked over at Lord Hillyer, who was just walking out of Madam Pomfrey's office. The man was intensely private, rarely appearing outside of the Wizengamot - though he had recently begun to spend time in The Netherlands, working on some ICW project. He had not fought in the last war, preferring to work with the Potters behind the scenes.

To the best of Kingsley's knowledge, this was the first time a confrontation with Lord Hillyer had gotten physical.

He looked down at the injury report, and shook his head before putting it in the file. One thing was for certain - Kingsley would not knowingly make an enemy of Joseph Hillyer.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **This chapter and the next don't seem to want to come together properly. Add to that a very busy schedule on both my end and my beta, and the result is a much-delayed and shorter-than-I'd-like chapter. With the basilisks, diaries, and Lockharts all out of play, things seem to be settling down - but we do still have some time before the end of term, and an exciting summer after that.**

 **Many works attempt to deconstruct Lucius Malfoy's motivations, and his portrayals in fanfiction run the gamut from irredeemable psychopath to misunderstood Lord in over his head, and everything in between. There might be a time for some nuance from the elder Malfoy - but this moment wasn't it. (Besides, I want to see each of the five and how they deal with Dobby.)** **We'll certainly see more of the man as we go forward, and I particularly look forward to his future interactions with Spellforged (who rather enjoyed turning Draco's line around on his father). The plain fact, though, is that all five deployed the diary, and all five got roughed up and lost Dobby as a result.**

 **As with many things we learn about Lord Hillyer, his history with Lucius Malfoy will play out in later chapters. He has plenty of reasons to dislike Lucius, suffice to say.**

 **Next chapter: Justice for Astoria.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	49. Cunning Comes in Many Forms

With the first week of May, Rose Potter again found herself meeting with her head of house. The summons had surprised her, as it was too early for the usual end-of-term consultation. Her year had not even been told to start picking their electives, so the meeting could not be about that decision, either. She had been given no detentions, had gained more points for her house than she had lost, and her grades had to be near the top of her class for the second year in a row.

So why did Professor Snape need to speak with her?

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Rose knocked on the office door. "Come," said the voice of the Potions Master. Entering the office, Rose was surprised to see Professor McGonagall's stern features watching her as she entered. The Transfiguration professor was pleasant to her, if a little distant, and Rose could not recall any issues in that class that would require a conference with her head of house.

"Please have a seat, Miss Potter," said Snape, indicating a chair across his desk. McGonagall took the adjacent seat. Saying nothing, Rose took her place and looked at Snape. He considered her for a moment, as if judging her before a word had been spoken. When he spoke, his tone had softened a little - the change was subtle, but he was the professor she probably had the most interaction with over the past two years, and his mannerisms were obvious once you got to know them.

He had not found what he was looking for in her demeanor - and was pleased by that fact. Despite herself, Rose allowed herself to relax just a bit.

"There was an incident earlier this afternoon, Miss Potter. The Deputy Headmistress would like to ask you a few questions." Rose looked to Professor McGonagall, saying nothing.

After a moment, McGonagall decided that Rose's silence was all the consent she'd get, and sighed. "Miss Potter," she began. "When was the last time you spoke to Cassius Warrington?"

 _That's not the question I expected,_ she thought. "I can't recall the last conversation I had with him, Professor. I've probably greeted him in passing on occasion, surely, but I couldn't say exactly when."

"I see," said McGonagall. "And what about Percy Weasley?"

 _That's an unlikely pair._ "Valentine's Day, Professor. In the Hospital Wing."

McGonagall and Snape looked at each other. Snape picked up the questioning. "So, to be clear, you did not encourage those two boys to attack anyone in Gryffindor?" He looked at her intently, as if emphasizing his point. "Anyone at all?"

 _Aha,_ she thought. "I can't say that I have, Professor." She turned to McGonagall. "What exactly happened, if I may ask?"

She scowled. "Jeffrey Burke, a gryffindor sixth year, claims that Mister Warrington attacked him in the corridor near the Potions classroom. When Mister Weasley heard the commotion, he stunned his housemate rather than Mister Warrington. One of his yearmates, Mister Samno, attempted to help, but he was stunned and bound as well."

Rose shared another look with Snape. "Would I be correct if I said that Kenneth Stein was there as well?"

"What makes you say that?" asked McGonagall, her tone growing annoyed.

"Because, Professor, the three gryffindors we suspected of attacking Astoria Greengrass were Burke, Samno, and Stein." Rose kept her voice even, but her thoughts were racing. _Percy and Cassius were both involved, which means…._ "Let me guess, Professor. Percy Weasley says that he broke up a fight between those three and Mister Warrington. And they, in turn, claim that he was told to attack them by a certain slytherin. Am I getting it right?"

McGonagall sighed. "That is fairly accurate, yes, Miss Potter."

"And this attack took place where, exactly?"

"Near the Potions classroom." answered Snape.

"I see," replied Rose. "The same place were Astoria was attacked, is that right?"

"It is," said McGonagall. "I fail to see what that has to do with anything."

Rose smiled at her. "If you had witnesses, I doubt you'd be here speaking to me. Which tells me that you just have the accounts of those involved."

"I've never had reason to question my lions about their behavior, Miss Potter." McGonagall said in a huff.

"No, I'm not aware of any _proven_ accusations against those three," Rose said, her emphasis on the word proven causing McGonagall to frown. "Nor has there been any complaint about Mister Warrington, is that accurate, Professor Snape?"

"Miss Potter is correct, Minerva," replied Snape.

"Which means," continued Rose, "we need to interview the witness."

"Miss Potter," snapped McGonagall. "Did I not make myself clear? There are no other witnesses."

The amicable smile faded from Rose's face. "Are you absolutely certain, Deputy Headmistress?"

oOoOoOoOo

It was a short walk to the corridor near the Potions classroom. Professor McGonagall seemed ready to object when Rose began leading the two professors toward the scene of the crime, before she remembered that this was not the first attack in this location. Professor Snape, meanwhile, found himself recalling a conversation he had had with the headmaster about the lack of portraits in the dungeons - and how Rose had commented on that same fact not long after the beginning of the term.

Rose came to a stop between two blank sections of wall, in an otherwise empty stretch of corridor. Turning, she gave the professors a pleasant smile. "Is this the place, Professor McGonagall?"

"It is." Minerva replied, simply.

"Good," said Rose, with a nod. Stepping closer to the wall, she waved her wand and cast a _Finite Incantatem_. The stone wall shimmered, before fading to reveal a portrait. Inside the frame, an old wizard sat in a comfortable chair, reading a book. When he noticed that he was revealed, he stood up and brushed his robes off.

"Good morning, Rose," said the portrait.

"Hello, Professor," she replied. "Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, may I present Professor Basil Forsnac, Headmaster of Hogwarts from 1827 to 1841."

Snape gave the portrait a nod of acknowledgement. McGonagall looked from the portrait to the slytherin. "Miss Potter, do you mean to tell me that you removed one of the Headmasters' portraits from Professor Dumbledore's office?"

Rose found herself annoyed at the near-accusation, but kept her voice calm. "No, Professor. You see, Headmaster Frosnac taught a course on enchanting, and one of his specialities was the charms work that went into enchanting portraits and linking frames together. As a means of honoring him, his seventh years and several alumni got together and crafted about a dozen frames for their old mentor." She gestured at the portrait. "The Headmaster here probably has the most frames of any single portrait in the castle."

"Quite right, Miss Potter," said Professor Frosnac, amicably. "So when I was asked to allow one of my frames to be moved, and why, I could hardly say no." He gave the professors a gentle smile, one that reminded Minerva of the current Headmaster. "It was a welcome change of pace, as it happened."

McGonagall stared at the portrait, processing this turn of events. Professor Snape looked at Rose, before addressing the portrait. "You saw the attack this afternoon, then?" he asked.

The smile faded from Frosnac's face. "Yes."

"You summoned Poppy," said Minerva, quietly, almost to herself. Frosnac heard her, and nodded.

"Aye, I did." He gestured at the mirror that dominated one side of the painting. "I did not want to leave this frame, since my task was to watch over the corridor. But with the linked mirror, I was able to pass the word along to a portrait of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor that hangs in the matron's office. It was she who summoned help."

Rose watched as the two professors shared another look. Then Professor Snape turned to the portrait, but he did not have to ask the question on each of their minds. The Headmaster was already crossing the room, walking with a cane. They watched as the old wizard tapped the mirror, which began to display the portrait's view of the events of that afternoon.

Once the mirror faded, Professor McGonagall found the eyes of both slytherins focused on her. With a sigh, she nodded to the portrait. "Thank you, Professor Frosnac." Then, she turned to Rose. "Thirty points to Slytherin for your foresight, Miss Potter."

"Thank you, Professor," was her reply.

"I shall go speak to the Headmaster, Severus." McGonagall said to Snape, who nodded in acknowledgement. He said nothing about her earlier comments about Cassius Warrington and his involvement in the attack - for it was clear now that the prefect's involvement was that of a victim.

Rose watched the Deputy Headmistress walk down the corridor, hopefully to deal with her lions. _If this doesn't work,_ she thought, _Flint and the others will take matters into their own hands._ She wasn't prepared for that, not when things had actually calmed down in the castle. As the others had pointed out, however, she was only a second year. Her options were limited.

It was something Spellforged had told her, long ago, that gave her this idea. He had said that the Goblins rarely acted on their own initiative, preferring to keep their own counsel and maintain their neutrality. Those wizards who had the most success in dealing with the Goblins were the ones who ensured that the option they wanted the Goblins to follow was the one that promised the most profit.

Rose considered it quite a Slytherin idea. If she couldn't get justice for Astoria, then she could at least make it easy for others to do it on her behalf. Now, of course, she just needed to trust in the integrity of the Deputy Headmistress that she would do what was necessary. Only time would tell, there.

Fortunately, Rose had other options as well. After collecting her bag from Professor Snape's office, she made her way to the Owlery.

oOoOoOoOo

At dinner, the students were surprised to learn that Gryffindor had lost three hundred points in one afternoon.

Neither Cassius Warrington nor Percy Weasley were in the great hall, nor could Rose see any of the other Weasleys. As she looked down the Gryffindor table, she saw that the three attackers were absent as well, which she took as a good sign. She did not think to much about the fact that Daphne and Astoria were missing from the Slytherin table. If everything was going as intended, they would be there before too long.

Tracey saw the knowing look on Rose's face, and leaned over to her. "What happened?" she asked. Millicent Bulstrode, sitting on Tracey's other side, tried very hard not to be obvious about listening in.

Rose took a sip of her pumpkin juice before answering. "If I'm right, at this moment our three favorite lions are having a meeting with their parents and Professor McGonagall." She shrugged innocently, causing Tracey to roll her eyes. "It seems that they took it on themselves to attack two prefects in the potions corridor."

Tracey's eyes grew wide. "Did the portrait see them?"

Rose grinned. "He saw _everything_."

Tracey returned the grin. Had they not been in the great hall, she may have pumped her fist in triumph - for the idea of disillusioning a portrait had been hers. Daphne and Hermione had been the ones to choose the portrait, and Rose talked it into helping, but the initial idea started with Tracey.

Shortly before dinner ended, Rose saw Daphne leading her sister to the Slytherin table. Astoria split off to go sit with her friends, while Daphne seated herself across from Tracey and Rose. Daphne's expression seemed more solemn than Rose had expected.

Daphne did not wait for the inevitable question. "Kenneth Stein has been expelled," she said, quietly. "The other two are on probation for the rest of their time at Hogwarts."

Rose and Tracey shared a look. While both had hoped for expulsions, they had figured that detentions and points would be the most the Headmaster would do. The staff's hands-off approach to bullying could be said to have been part of the cause of the attack in the first place, after all. The diary, through Ginny, had played off of that atmosphere of mistrust, wielding the legend of Slytherin's beast to great effect.

Astoria had seen the results of that mistrust first hand. It was enough to make Rose hate the house divide even more.

"Why only Stein, I wonder?" asked Tracey.

"He talked himself into it, actually," replied Daphne. "Father summoned their parents when the three were accused earlier today, and he attended the meeting on behalf of the board of governors. Burke's father and Samno's mother both came close to pulling their sons out of the school, and encouraged the Headmaster to do whatever he had to do. McGonagall was shocked, once she realized that the parents were supporting the staff and not their sons."

"It makes sense," said Rose, thoughtfully. "They're caught, they lied about it, they're guilty. Best option is to trust in the Headmaster's well-known soft spot for second chances."

Daphne nodded. "I don't think they looked at it that way, since we are talking about gryffindors and all. But the result is the same."

"And Stein?"

"Stein was adamant that the gryffindors had to defend themselves." Daphne shook her head, amazed that the boy had even tried to justify the attacks. "He said that if the teachers weren't going to protect the students, then they would."

"Protect them from what?" asked Tracey.

Daphne looked up. "From Slytherin."

"It's worse than I thought," Rose said. "I expected them to be using the petrifications as cover to bully slytherins, but he actually told the Headmaster that _we_ were the problem?" She, too, shook her head in amazement. "Did they mention that the petrifications stopped months ago?"

"Father did, when none of the professors made that point." Daphne shrugged. "The response was 'Until next time.' Then the Headmaster asked him what he would do then. Stein looked Dumbledore in the eye and said 'We'll do what we have to.' He was expelled on the spot."

"Serves him right," said Tracey, returning to her dinner. "Nutter."

"He's not a nutter," said Millicent, causing the other three girls to look at her.

"Why not?" asked Tracey.

Millicent looked uncomfortable at the attention, but met their looks nonetheless. "I mean, if three slytherins had beaten up a Gryffindor first year, what would have happened? They would have torn the dungeons apart looking for evidence, right?" She looked at Rose. "And think if that had happened after Malfoy's little stunt on Halloween? It would have been war."

"They got away with it the first time," Daphne said quietly. "They thought they would again."

Millicent nodded. "They sent a first year to the hospital wing for a week, and nothing happened at school." She gave Daphne a thoughtful look. "I heard your father spoke with their parents?"

Daphne nodded. "Before the three were brought in, Father mentioned that there was evidence linking them to the attack on a slytherin girl in December. Stein's parents scoffed at that, but Burke's father asked why they hadn't heard about this yet, and Father replied that the investigation had still been ongoing." She smiled in spite of the topic. "When they learned that the girl who had been attacked was Astoria, they realized why Lord Greengrass was attending the meeting on behalf of the Governors."

"I wondered why he never made a public move," said Tracey.

"He knew that the evidence wouldn't hold up," said Daphne. "All we knew was that they were the only three who could have done it. But we couldn't prove that they had." She looked at Rose. "Until today."

oOoOoOoOo

Not everyone in Slytherin was happy with what had happened. Marcus Flint, along with most of the quidditch team, had wanted blood. That one had gone so far as to obtain class schedules for the three gryffindors showed exactly how far they were willing to go to satisfy the urge for revenge.

Flint was speaking with his fellow seventh years in the common room when he noticed Rose Potter and her friends sitting near the fireplace. This second year had let the lions get away with beating a slytherin prefect, and all they got was probation. They deserved so much worse, and everyone knew it.

She had humiliated Draco Malfoy for speaking out of turn, and he was in her house! How _dare_ she side with the gryffindors.

Raising his voice, Flint decided to make sure everyone knew who was to blame. "It's lucky for those gryffindors that the Girl-Who-Lived was the one to catch them. They might have gotten into trouble, otherwise." His friends snickered at the comment, but Flint was watching Rose for the reaction he knew had to be coming.

When she ignored him, he stood. He didn't care how famous she was, she was a second year girl, he would make sure she knew her place.

"Did you have to beg Dumbledore to put them on probation?" he asked with a sneer. "I knew you were the Headmaster's pet, but this just proves it!"

That did it. Rose closed her book and set it aside. She did not stand, though Flint saw several fifth years walking over. He forced himself not to grin when they leaned against the stone wall behind her seat, flanking the fireplace. _Does she even realize that she's surrounded?_ He thought to himself.

"What would you have done, Mister Flint?" Rose asked. Despite her quiet tone, everyone in the room heard her. Flint could feel the eyes of his housemates turn to see his response.

He scoffed. "Gryffindors don't understand anything except fists. We would have given those three just as good as they gave us."

"How Slytherin of you," she answered, drily, and Flint was surprised to hear a few laughs at the comment.

"We protect our housemates, Miss Potter," said another seventh year behind Flint.

"As well we should," she said, agreeably. Keeping her eyes on Flint, she shrugged. "So you'd beat them up. What then?"

He tilted his head at her. "Then they'd stop."

She shook her head, almost as if in disappointment. "No, Mister Flint, they would just make sure the next snake they found didn't get up." She stood now, though she did not approach him. "And if three lions beat one of our housemates so badly that they went home early? Or worse, went to Saint Mungo's? What would you do, start killing gryffindors until you stumbled across the attacker?"

Flint's response gave Rose a chill, all the moreso because she was convinced he meant it.

"If we had to."

She nodded, thoughtfully, covering her reaction. "And the professors? What are they doing during all this?"

Flint scoffed again. "Nothing. We have to protect ourselves because they won't."

"Uh huh," Rose said. "So, Gryffindor charges in and beats up Slytherin, and that's what they do, but Slytherin goes and beats up Gryffindor, and that's supposed to be cunning?"

"It's not about that," Flint began.

"It's always about that!" Rose interrupted him, anger in her tone. "You want to win a fight, and that's fine I guess, but there will always be another fight, another attack."

"That's how it's always been," a witch answered her from the back of the room.

"And how well has that worked for us?" Rose replied, stepping forward. "Flint wants to win a fight, I say we need to win all the other fights before they happen."

"Bollocks," said Flint. "How does a little girl win a fight that hasn't happened yet?"

She met his gaze. "The next time a Gryffindor gets it in his head to beat up a snake, he will think about Ken Stein, who got expelled because he told the Headmaster - to his face - that he was protecting his housemates from us." She pointed at Flint. "From people like you, Mister Flint."

"That's not what he said," Flint began, his tone quieter, the bluster gone from his voice.

"Lord Greengrass reports otherwise," Rose said. "The other two got probation, and if they get so much as a detention for anything non-academic, they're gone." She turned in her place, looking at the faces of her housemates as they listened. "But Stein couldn't accept that he might have been wrong, because the professors have taught him that he wasn't."

"Until now."

All eyes turned to the entrance to the common room, where a pale Cassius Warrington was standing next to Professor Snape.

oOoOoOoOo

Warrington was leaning on a cane, but otherwise seemed to be mostly recovered. He walked slowly over to the nearest chair, and the room was silent as he made his way. Flint's expression was getting angrier and angrier as he realized what had happened, but Snape's presence caused him to hold his tongue. When Warrington was settled, he spoke to the room.

"Do you want to know why those three lions got caught today, Marcus?" Warrington asked, quietly. "Rose told one of their prefects about her suspicions, and he told the rest of their prefect team. They were watching, and they were waiting, and when those three attacked, it was a Gryffindor prefect standing next to me."

"So what?" spat Flint.

"So, Rose basically forced the professors to do their damn jobs and punish the guilty." He gestured to Rose, who nodded to him. "Instead of getting her own revenge, she forced the professors to do it. All perfectly within the rules, all perfectly legal."

"That's not how we do things," Flint argued.

"And that's the problem, isn't it?" asked Rose. "You wanted to charge in and hurt someone, didn't you? Don't bother answering, we can see it on your face. But here's the thing, Mister Flint - that's how Gryffindor does things. They charge in."

"And how do we do things, then, Miss Slytherin Princess?" Flint's tone caused some grumbling - including from some of the people standing behind him, people he thought supported him.

"Do you need me to explain the word cunning, Mister Flint?" asked Rose with a chuckle. "You've been here seven years, man." She gestured at the room. "Everyone thinks that we're the source of all evil in the school, and you want to go prove them right?"

Flint stood there, staring at her.

The quiet stretched for several moments, before the last person anyone expected to speak stood up.

"When I went to the other houses on Halloween," began a nervous Draco Malfoy. "Two of them had their wands out when I walked in."

Rose looked at him, surprised that he had spoken up.

"All I did was say the first thing that popped into my head," he continued. "And they were prepared for me to attack them." He looked at Flint. "What would they do if you had actually attacked them?"

Flint said nothing.

Snape's voice broke the silence. "An impassioned defense of your house's ideals, Miss Potter. Take ten points for Slytherin." He walked to the middle of the common room, all eyes following him. "I have been informed by the Headmaster that all school rules on bullying and attacks in the corridors will be strictly enforced from this day forward."

"Why weren't they before, sir?" asked a first year.

Snape turned to the boy. "I'm sure I have no idea," was his reply, and his tone made clear that he knew why and didn't want to discuss it - no more than it had already been discussed, at any rate. "My door is open if you have questions about this new policy," and here he looked pointedly at Flint. "But for now, the hour grows late. Off you go."

oOoOoOoOo

"Merlin, this House is exhausting," muttered Rose as she climbed into bed.

Daphne chuckled at the comment. "It's not easy to be the High Priestess of Slytherin, Keeper of the One True Faith of Cunning and Ambition and Assorted Subtleties, is it?"

Daphne laughed even harder when the pillow struck her from across the room.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Welcome back. My beta, Mrs. Gunnarsson, has been switching jobs and working as hard as she can to handle her business. So this story went on a bit of an unplanned hiatus, which I know frustrated quite a few of you. She is as much a cowriter as a beta, save for the fact that I'm the one typing things out. So, all of that is to say that we're going to ease back into things here as we gear up for Year Three.**

 **For the olds, you may recognize Burke and Samno as the assassins from the 1991 classic Star Trek VI. Kenneth and Stein were both cricketers, I believe - the name has no other significance, save that I can confirm at least one famous British person was named Stein at some point.**

 **We're at the end of Year Two, and a fun-filled summer awaits. Updates will remain sporadic for a while yet, as we get back into things. You may also enjoy Who Dares Wins, my other major ongoing story.**

 **I may not have responded to every review, or even to most of them - but they are read, and welcomed, and cherished. Thank you.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	50. The Pentathalon

The five did not spend much time discussing what to do about Dobby. He was a free elf in all five worlds, and happy to be that way. They knew that it was unusual for an elf to remain unbonded to a family, but not entirely without precedent. Many of the Hogwarts elves were descended from elves who had lost their families to war or illness or other calamities. The castle was welcoming of them, and filled the void the elves felt from the loss of their bonds.

Seeker, Marigold, and Rose all spoke with Dobby, and he agreed to come if called. While he was not their elf, necessarily, he was thankful that they had taken the time to free him. It only proved that the great Harry Potter, sir, was truly a great wizard, of course. Each Dobby seemed to go to great lengths to let each of them know how great they really were, much to their amusement.

Chaser was also polite in thanking Dobby for his help, and offered to ask his father about bringing on a new house elf. He guessed - correctly - that James Potter would quickly warm to the idea of bonding with Dobby for the simple fact that it would infuriate Lucius Malfoy. If Dobby ever decided he wanted a home, he'd have one.

Spellforged, when asked, said that Dobby would probably form a loose bond with each of them, simply as a result of the way he had been freed. Such a bond could be turned into a family bond rather easily, or left alone. As long as Dobby remained happy and healthy, Spellforged was inclined to leave it be.

There was another dimension, however - one that only applied to Spellforged. The Goblin Nation did not bond with house elves in the same way that wizarding families did. There was no law against it, certainly not one that the Nation would follow. Rather, it was a matter of magic and custom. Goblin magic did not seem to be as beneficial to house elves as wizarding magic, and so the bond would be weaker to begin with. Goblin custom, meanwhile, did not allow for slavery or bound servitude in the absence of a crime, and a house elf bond was close enough to that definition to qualify.

Thus, Goblins who required the services of house elves hired them out from a wizarding firm that offered such services, or directed their clients to do so. If Dobby asked, Harry Spellforged could not accept him into his bonded service.

Dobby had looked crestfallen when Spellforged explained the situation. He had not asked to bond, but felt hurt that the great Harry Spellforged, sir, couldn't even consider it. His drooped ears and downcast gaze told the tale. To his surprise, Erik Sullivan figured it out before his older cousin.

"You're still part of our family, Dobby, even if this one" Erik hooked a thumb back at Spellforged. "can't hire you directly." He spoke in a soothing tone, hoping to calm the elf down.

"Little Master Sullivans?" Dobby asked, quietly, his questioning eyes focused on the first year.

Erik nodded. "You always have a place with Clan Sullivan."

Spellforged couldn't help but chuckle when Erik found himself getting hugged by a very grateful elf.

oOoOoOoOo

After the second years completed their Defense exam, Chaser stayed behind to speak with Professor Knight. She looked up from her marking and grumbled, though the corners of her mouth displayed her amusement. Without prompting, she opened a drawer and withdrew a small stack of parchment.

"Mister Potter," she said. "I didn't expect to be giving out additional homework to anyone outside of Ravenclaw."

Chaser gave her a grin. "My father wants to make sure I'm all caught up with where we should be, Professor. He's told me that I should plan for extra lessons this summer."

"I see," said Professor Knight, with a nod. She tapped her finger on the stack of lesson plans. "Well, as you requested, this should get you up to third year, including most of what we reviewed this term."

"That'll be perfect, Professor," Chaser replied. What he did not say was that the lessons were not for him, though he'd definitely participate. Rather, they were going to guide his counterparts in their summer work, for they had had much more time with Professor Lockhart than he had. While Professor Knight's classes had a structure and a firm plan, theirs had been largely scattered across the curriculum, with widely varying subjects taught by a rotating cast of aurors on injury leave.

As a way to spend a few hours each week, it was better than Lockhart. But as a way to prepare for their third year, it wasn't much at all. Spellforged wanted to change that, and these lessons would be a big help toward that goal.

The five had speculated as to whether Professor Knight had an analog in the other four worlds. It might be a challenge to find her, if she existed - perhaps she was married in other worlds, and thus had a different name, for example. Or, perhaps she had died long ago, for being an auror was not exactly without danger. Her parents, or even grandparents, may not have met at all. Rose pointed out the obvious alternative - that they may have met and had a son who followed a vastly different career path.

If the Defense professor in their third year was as lacking as the one for their second, then perhaps they would make an attempt at recruiting their own Professor Knight. After all, how many Transfiguration masteries had been handed out in the past fifty years? Certainly, not so many as to make a search of them impossible - especially for Gringott's.

After discussing the lessons themselves, and promising to send an owl with any questions, Chaser stood and prepared to leave.

"Thank you again, Professor, for everything" he said, sincerely. "I hope you have a pleasant holiday."

"As do I, Mister Potter."

The new voice surprised both professor and student. Turning, they saw the Headmistress standing in the doorway.

"If you are concerned about your Defence classes, don't be," Headmistress Dumbledore said as she walked into the classroom. "Professor Knight has agreed to remain as our Defense professor for another year." She was smiling pleasantly, the smile even reaching her eyes in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. Chaser couldn't put his finger on why the expression seemed off, somehow.

"Indeed," said Professor Knight, causing Chaser to turn back and look at her. Her tone had grown cold, a marked change from her light demeanor of just moments before. She did not look at Chaser as he turned, but kept her carefully neutral features focused on the Headmistress. "Mister Potter, I wish you well in your studies this summer. Now, if you'll excuse us…" Professor Knight trailed off as it became clear that Chaser had gotten the hint.

"Of course," he said with a nod. "Professor, Headmistress, good day." And with that, Chaser left as quickly as he could, not wanting to be in the middle of whatever this was.

Once he was gone, Professor Knight waved her wand at the classroom door, with slammed shut with a bang. A soft click told the women that it had been locked. It would not do to be interrupted.

"Headmistress," Professor Knight began, fighting to keep her voice even. "It is generally considered improper to announce the acceptance of a job offer you haven't even made yet."

Arianna Dumbledore stood at the front of the classroom, hands clasped behind her back, projecting an air of calm and nonchalance at odds with the growing anger of the younger woman sitting at the desk.

"I have every faith that you will accept, however. And Mister Potter does so look up to you." The Headmistress kept her tone light, yet filled with certainty. She had no doubt that what she said was the absolute truth.

Knight saw the trick, and pointed a finger at her employer. "Don't do that, I hate it when you do that." She shook her head. "Dad could never stand it when you asked forgiveness rather than permission, like you had a right to decide things for people."

"What happened between your father and I…" Dumbledore began, but Knight raised a hand and stopped her.

"No, I don't want to know. That's between you and him." She shook her head again, making her disappointment clear. "If these kids didn't need me here, I'd be in the wind, and it'd be on you to explain why."

The Headmistress gave a sigh of her own, but said nothing.

"I mean it, Headmistress. Take Mister Potter, for example." Knight gestured at the doorway. "He was in here getting extra lesson plans to work through over the summer, because everything he's seen in this classroom up to now has been so lacking. Merlin, he's had nine different professors, not counting me. Quirrell, Lockhart, and seven aurors. Want to explain what that does to a curriculum?"

Dumbledore looked weary, even as she conceded the point. "You are as eloquent as ever, Alexandria."

Knight scoffed. "You knew all of this, you had to, or else you wouldn't have brought me in."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said. "Nevertheless, I'm glad you are here."

Professor Knight sighed, sitting back in her chair. "Love you too, Gran."

oOoOoOoOo

Rose agreed with Chaser when he suggested tracking down other versions of Professor Knight, if possible. _Anyone would be better than Lockhart,_ she had said. Of course, she had said much the same about Quirrell too, so what would happen remained a mystery.

Surely, they would not go three years in a row with awful Defense professors. Right?

She had other things on her mind, however. Sirius Black had yet to be awarded with her guardianship.

It was impossible to determine, from letters alone, exactly what the delay was. The fact that she was of school age made things less urgent, as did the fact that she was not in imminent danger with her current guardians.

That factor was a frustrating one to Rose, for it told her that the request might have been more successful had Sirius been free to seek her guardianship years ago. Back then, she was in danger - indifference from her relatives, verbal abuse from Petunia and Vernon, the threat of being chased by Dudley's gang, it all added up to a case for removing her from the home. Now that those were no longer a problem, it put less onus on the Ministry to make a change.

Add in the fact that Albus Dumbledore was the one who placed her there in the first place, and the result was a complete lack of anyone willing to move the request along.

On the other side of the galleon, you have the recently exonerated Lord Black as the one making the request. He is her godfather, and has a stable home. He has reports and parchments from Saint Mungo's attesting to his fitness to be a guardian for a teenaged witch. Obviously, he has the resources to adequately care for such a child. Most importantly, he was not assigned custody in 1981 solely due to the Ministry's screw-up.

His request for guardianship would never be declined outright. But neither would it be acted upon quickly. All in all, it was a frustrating mess.

Daphne and Astoria had attempted to distract her with talk of summer plans. During that conversation, the idea of a summer trip came up. This brought to mind a discussion she had had with Spellforged some weeks prior, and the quick trip back to the Chamber of Secrets that followed.

"What would you say," Rose began, "if I asked you about Salazar Slytherin's ancestral home?"

Daphne raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Astoria shrugged, a puzzled look on her face.

"Slytherin grew up in Ireland," Astoria replied. "We don't know where he went after he left Hogwart's."

Rose smiled at them.

"Rose Potter, what do you know that we don't?" asked Daphne. She clearly was struggling to keep her voice down, and mostly succeeding.

"Oh," answered Rose. "Let's just say that Gairsay Island, in the north of Scotland, is beautiful during the summer." She grinned at the sisters, both of whom were shocked at what she was implying. This caused Rose to chuckle at their reaction. "So," she continued. "Think your father will be up for taking us on a little trip?"

oOoOoOoOo

"Harry?"

Spellforged looked up from his notebook, and saw a worried Luna Lovegood standing before him. The common room was mostly empty, with exams being mostly finished. Even the small library area - usually one of the more popular spots in Ravenclaw tower - was free of students.

Something in Luna's body language was telling Spellforged that there was a problem, though he had no idea what it might be. Closing his book, he stood.

"What's wrong, Luna?"

"I can't find Astoria," she said, simply.

Harry frowned. "I haven't seen her come through the common room," he remarked. Seeing Cho Chang sitting on a nearby couch, Harry walked over. He did not know her well, apart from being aware of the fact that she was their house team's seeker, but generally they seemed to get along. "Cho, have you seen Astoria, by any chance?"

Cho looked up from the textbook she was reading. "I think she went with her sister to the hospital wing," she said.

"Harry," said Luna, drawing his attention. "We should go down there." There was an unmistakable urgency to her voice, now.

"Right," he agreed. "Thanks, Cho." The third year nodded, her eyes already back on her book.

When Spellforged and Luna got to the hospital wing, they saw that a bed at the end of the infirmary had been curtained off. Not seeing Madam Pomfrey, the ravenclaws stood a moment in the doorway, unsure as to how to proceed. A quiet sob to their right drew their attention.

Daphne Greengrass was sitting in a chair in the waiting area, quietly sobbing.

"Daphne?" Spellforged asked, quietly. The blonde slytherin turned to look at them, and he saw that her eyes were red. Walking over, Harry took the seat next to her, with Luna seating herself on Daphne's other side. "Daphne, what happened?" he asked again.

He was not sure what surprised him more - the fact that Daphne immediately hugged him, or the fact that she was sobbing into his shoulder as she did so.

"Breathe," he said, as Luna rubbed her back in an attempt to calm her down. "Just breathe," he said again. She did calm down, after a while, but Harry could tell that asking questions would just set her off again.

At the far end of the infirmary, Spellforged saw a tall, blonde woman walk out of the partitioned area, her hand on her face. She stood next to an empty bed on the other side of the room, obviously attempting to pull herself together. After a moment, a man joined her, and they hugged for a minute, supporting each other. Harry recognized the man as Lord Daniel Greengrass, which made the witch his wife and Daphne's mother.

The fact that Astoria's parents had been summoned just raised more questions in Harry's mind. A glance to Luna told him that she was thinking the same thing.

When the Greengrasses returned to the partitioned area, another figure emerged - and this person's presence was as much a surprise as anything, though perhaps it should not have been.

Erik Sullivan, looking exhausted, made his way over to the waiting area. Daphne looked up as he approached, and Harry saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes. He also saw the subtle shake of Erik's head as he sat down across from his friend's sister.

"She's asleep, finally." Erik said.

"Good," murmured Daphne. "I don't think she's slept in three nights."

Luna spoke then, for the first time since they had entered the infirmary. "It happened, didn't it?"

Daphne nodded, before choking back another sob. Now it was Luna giving her a hug, and Daphne - the proper, stoic older sister - losing all composure.

Spellforged looked at Erik, who rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"It's not my place, Harry," he began, but Daphne's look silenced him.

"Go ahead and tell him," she said, in a sad, quiet voice.

Erik sighed, before taking a deep breath and steeling himself to deliver the news. "The Greengrass family was afflicted with a blood curse, Harry." Just the words, _blood curse_ , were chilling, and Harry could see that it pained Erik to talk of it. His aunt, Harry's adoptive mother, was a curse breaker, after all. Both boys knew from a young age how nasty some curses could be, and how enduring.

A blood curse on a family line? The idea of it was chilling.

 _The Greengrass family,_ Spellforged thought to himself. Rose had talked about her plans to visit what she hoped was Salazar Slytherin's ancestral home - a trip that Astoria insisted on joining. That conversation was yesterday - there was no way Astoria would not have been exhibiting symptoms if she were hit by a curse.

"Tell me," he said, simply. Daphne looked at him, her expression unreadable. She had not heard Harry take charge, before, and was unsure what his reaction meant.

Erik looked unsure. "I don't know the details," he began. His eyes went to Daphne, as if asking for help. Harry followed the look, and saw Daphne's blue eyes meeting his own.

Harry's expression softened. "Daphne, my mother is a cursebreaker, as you know," he began. She nodded, hesitantly. "You also know that my father has more than a few connections. If there is anyone in the world who knows about this curse, and how to cure it or mitigate it or neutralize its effects, then he can have them here before you can read off his titles."

"I don't know the specific curse," Daphne said quietly. "I know it targets the women of the Greengrass family, and that it usually hits a witch when she is in her twenties." She shook her head, wiping another tear away. "We knew she was at risk, we both were. Merlin, I thought we'd have more time." Her shoulders shook once more, and the sobs came again.

Luna folded the slytherin into her arms. Her eyes met Harry's, and he received the message loud and clear. _Help her._

As Luna worked to calm Daphne, Harry looked at Erik. His cousin, unprompted, gave him a nod. He had seen Harry working out a particularly tough problem, and it frequently involved him closing his eyes and thinking things through. If any problem required Harry's full attention, this was it.

With a nod in acknowledgement, Spellforged closed his eyes and reached out to the link.

 _Does anyone have a sick Astoria Greengrass in their hospital wing?_ He asked without preamble or prelude.

As he expected, the mention of her friend's sister got Rose's attention immediately. _She's fine,_ was the reply. _She sat with us at dinner._

 _Did she have an appetite? Has she been sleeping?_ Spellforged pressed the issue, knowing that any detail might be important.

 _What happened?_ Seeker asked. Of the five, he was probably closer to his Daphne than the others, second only to Rose, of course.

 _My Astoria Greengrass is in the infirmary with some sort of blood curse,_ Spellforged explained. _Daphne said that it follows the female line of the Greengrass family, and that it usually manifests later in life. That it hit her Astoria was a shock from which she is still recovering._ He considered that a moment. _Why her?_

 _It's a blood curse,_ replied Chaser. _It doesn't pick and choose its victims._

 _Maybe,_ Spellforged replied.

 _It depends on the curse,_ came Marigold's voice. Spellforged could hear the serious tone, even across the link. It was the same voice she had used when she was fighting to save Ginny - the sort of voice that brooked no argument.

 _What do you mean?_ Asked Seeker.

 _It's a lot like a disease,_ Marigold explained. _Sometimes people are born with diseases, or with the potential to have a disease, and never get it for whatever reason. That part of them just never turns on and makes them sick. Maybe the blood curse is like that. For Rose's Astoria, the galleon came up heads, but for Spellforged's, it came up tails and she got sick._

Footsteps pulled Spellforged out of the link, and he opened his eyes. Erik, familiar with his 'meditation', had ignored him, but Daphne had given him a curious look. Luna, of course, knew that he was having a conversation, and kept her focus on Daphne.

Lord and Lady Greengrass walked up. Without saying a word, Daphne stood up and went to them, wrapping both in a hug.

Harry did his best not to listen, but the words "I thought we had more time," scared him.

When he saw Lord Greengrass step away from his wife and daughter, Spellforged stood up and went to him.

"Heir Potter," Lord Greengrass greeted him formally, the fatigue in his voice plain.

Harry nodded in response. "Lord Greengrass," he replied. Stepping closer, he lowered his voice. "If I can be of any help, give the word."

Lord Greengrass looked at him, appraisingly. "This is my daughter, Mister Spellforged," he said. "I am not so proud as to ignore such an offer. The word is given, sir."

"Good," Harry replied. "I'll contact my father, and ask him if he has any suggestions." He nods toward Erik, who seems to have fallen asleep out of exhaustion. Harry realized, in that moment, that he had no idea how long Erik had been at Astoria's side. "My cousin's aunt, and my adoptive mother, happens to be a world-class curse breaker with Gringott's. With your permission, I'd like to seek her counsel as well."

"Of course," Lord Greengrass replied. "We've spoken to curse breakers over the years, but they always seem to find nothing when the curse doesn't show up in a generation."

"My mother tells me that there is no such thing as too much information," Spellforged said. "Any detail, no matter how insignificant, might be the one that provides the vital clue."

Daphne's father nodded. "I'll get everything together for you." He reached out to shake Harry's hand, holding it in a firm grip. "We're placing a lot of trust in you, Mister Spellforged."

Harry could do little more than nod. "I can't promise we'll be successful, sir, I want you to know that." His eyes met Daniel's, and the older man's expression showed that he understood. "But this I promise you - we will do everything we can to help."

oOoOoOoOo

The next morning, Seeker found Daphne Greengrass sitting in an alcove near Ravenclaw Tower.

It was the same spot Rose had told him about, after learning of it from her version of Daphne. Since then, he had met his Daphne here and at the matching window on the other side of the castle, where they could watch the sunset.

They were still circumspect about their friendship, not wanting to give some of the more unsavory elements of her house any reason to cause trouble. But when they did get a chance to talk, both welcomed the conversation.

Today was no different, for the most part. Once Seeker had confirmed that Astoria was taking the opportunity to sleep in, and was doing so in her dorm, he moved the conversation on to lighter topics.

His Astoria was, to all appearances, healthy and whole.

Talk quickly moved to summer plans, as it tended to do this close to the end of term. Here, Seeker managed to surprise the normally composed slytherin.

"Neville Longbottom is hosting a birthday party for the both of us," Harry said, not mentioning that it was the second time such a party was planned, since Daphne had not been there last year.

"Oh?" was her only reply, the raised eyebrow and slight smile his only hint that she was amused.

"Indeed," he replied. Catching her look, he decided to try and make her laugh. "Heiress Greengrass, if I were to send an invitation to your home, would it be well received?"

Daphne smirked, but had the grace to nod. "It would, Heir Potter."

"Excellent," he said, offering her an exaggerated bow. "In that case, I will eagerly await your formal reply."

He resisted the urge to pump his fist in victory when she burst out laughing. Instead, he just laughed with her.

oOoOoOoOo

Marigold Potter walked into the hospital wing with two missions.

The first, and easiest, was to see if Astoria Greengrass happened to be present. If she had gotten ill as well, she would still be down here, as Spellforged's Astoria had been since the previous day. If not, then they had another healthy (or presumably healthy) Astoria, which was all to the good.

To her relief, there was no Astoria to be seen.

Spellforged's passion for the issue of the blood curse was puzzling to her, at first. Then he mentioned that his cousin Erik was close to her, and had sat with her before her parents arrived. There was no surer way to get Spellforged working than to involve his cousin.

Marigold felt the tone of Spellforged's thoughts whenever his cousin came up. Erik Sullivan was as close to a little brother as any of them would ever have. It made sense that Spellforged would be protective of him - and of anyone close to him.

Her second mission was related to the first, but only just. It had been on her mind for a while now, ever since she had spent that night in the infirmary on Halloween, a lifetime ago. After she had incinerated a man in the great hall. The attack on Ginny Weasley, and her subsequent attempts to revive her, only cemented in her mind a decision that she hadn't realized she had made.

The appearance of the Shield of Gryffindor puzzled her brothers (and probably Rose as well, though she understood more than the others, given her experience with the Blade of Slytherin). To Marigold, however, it just reinforced her own identity. She had no desire to fight, to attack, to slay. She felt protective, defensive. The shield suited her in a way no sword could.

Thus, her other mission today.

"Miss Potter?"

Marigold turned to see Madam Pomfrey standing in the doorway. "Hello, Madam Pomfrey," she greeted the medi-witch. "Do you have a moment?"

Madam Pomfrey eyed her, wondering what was wrong. "Of course, my dear, let's go to my office." With that, she led the gryffindor through a side door.

Once both witches were seated, the medi-witch leaned back in her chair. "What can I do for you, Miss Potter?"

"Well," Marigold began, her nerves threatening to get the better of her. Then her thoughts went to Astoria - an Astoria she had never met, true, but a sick friend of a cousin of a brother nonetheless. Steeling herself, she looked Madam Pomfrey in the eye.

"Electives are due soon," she said. "And I don't know what to pick."

Pomfrey tilted her head. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Marigold took a deep breath. "What do I take if I want to be a healer?"

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Thus ends Year Two. Quite a few fun moments here, and some not-so-fun but necessary ones too. The less said the better, as the chapter speaks for itself in most respects. Plenty of threads to pick up later, I think.**

 **I will mention one point that always bothered me - the blood curse on Astoria Greengrass. It's one of the few bits of canon that applies to the younger sister, and it infuriates me. For a character in whom I see so much potential (particularly here), she essentially gets wizard cancer to give Draco the sads. It's aggravating. But, it's canon, and how our five deal with it - and how they use their link to do so - will be interesting.**

 **This story has passed 500 favorites, and approaches 750 follows. This story started off a year ago, and now we're two books and fifty chapters into this journey - a fact that still amazes me.** **Thank you all for your support and feedback.**


	51. Interlude - Self-Reflection

From the Journal of Harry Spellforged  
The 18th day of Dov'agh, The 207th year of Qul'Meyvap  
(or 21 June 1993)

Page one.

I have a stack of journals in my quarters, here at Gringotts. Several are my own, starting from my eighth birthday, when Father showed me his journals and gave me my first. Others are less personal, though equally important to me.

Mother gave me one of her old cursebreaking journals, wherein she logged the various curses she and her team encountered on a dig in Pakistan. Uncle Paul gave me a journal with some of his notes on arithmancy, including the beginnings of the paper that earned him his mastery. Father gave me one of his journals, from his time as a delegate to the high clans. Some of the goblins he encountered during that three year period are still active today, including three chiefs of other branches of Gringotts - people I will have to do business with, someday.

It fits, I think, that I'm starting a new journal right at the end of another school year. It lets me gather my thoughts and put them into perspective. That's part of why Father does it, and part of why he wanted me writing as well.

So, here, on the first page, is the balance of my life laid bare.

Do I use the English date, based on the death of a religious figure nearly two millennia ago? Or the lunar calendar I grew up with, with the fifth month named for a warrior and the year counted as the two-hundred and seventh year since the last war? Not even of peace, for the word **/Qul'Meyvap/** would most closely be translated as "ceasefire", and no ceasefire was ever permanent.

But I digress.

 **Harry's Plans for Summer before third term**

1 - Cure Astoria Greengrass

1a - Teach others Goblin Shorthand

2 - Find (Professor?) Alexandria Knight-Ketterhagen

3 - Project Circle of Friends

4 - Get others to start keeping journals

One, obviously, is the most critical, though the reason relates most with item three. Rose is close friends with Daphne Greengrass, and I get along with her as well. But the key difference is that I know Astoria much better than I know her older sister, both as a housemate as because she is one of Erik's close friends. Luna is her roommate, but admits that Astoria and Erik are thick as thieves, most of the time.

I'd like to think that I would want to help Astoria simply because I can - I have resources that would not otherwise come into play, and I have no qualms about leveraging those assets. But the fact that Rose knows her well makes me even more inclined to help. There, my reasons are selfish - what if Rose's Astoria falls ill someday?

In that case, having the cure for what ails her on hand would be of immense value.

So, how to cure the incurable disease? Here, I have no clue. What I do have are five patients, each identical to the others, except that only one exhibits symptoms. If I could have the same medical charms performed on each Astoria, and then get all five in front of Marigold, then maybe, just maybe, we might see something.

Did something with Astoria change here that triggered the curse? The most obvious difference is her sorting into Ravenclaw, but if that were the case she would have gotten ill in September. Luna tells me that she had no other illnesses during the year, apart from girl things.

When I foolishly asked for details, thinking that any information might help, Luna laughed in my face and told me not to ask questions I did not want answered. Then Hermione elbowed me in the ribs, and I got it. I sheepishly told her that I had grown up in a cave, which got both girls laughing with me and not at me.

So, how do I get a healthy Astoria to consent to a diagnostic charm? I don't, but that's a problem the others will have to sort out. It will definitely be easier for Rose than for Chaser, I think.

Even then, how do we get a copy of each diagnostic to Marigold? Well, here I may have an idea, if I can work out the details. If I can somehow teach the others to write in shorthand, then we could simply read off a few letters and end up passing along a full sheet of parchment's worth of information. Now, the trick would be translating it on each end and making sure nothing gets changed - one wrong symbol, and "She's perfectly healthy" turns into "Wizard Cancer!", which defeats the whole purpose.

I learned shorthand from Foecleaver directly, but for the others they'll need some sort of instruction. Are there textbooks that document shorthand? If so, are those textbooks in the Goblin tongue or in English?

I need to think more about this. Maybe I'll ask Luna.

There's another item for the list, skipping down to number three. I simply have no idea what to make of Luna Lovegood. She is, without a doubt, the most observant person I've ever met - and I grew up with the Goblins! No one else has ever deciphered the link, except her, and she even knew the names of Rose and Marigold. When I explained the quidditch references, she understood Seeker and Chaser as well.

"It must be nice to have brothers and sisters," she said. "Treasure them."

That got me thinking - what of the other four Lunas? How did they fare in Ravenclaw, without me there? I suspect she would still have found a new friend in Erik, and perhaps Rose's Hermione as well. But of everyone in our Ravenclaw, she seems closest to me - which worries me a little, to be honest.

I need to encourage the others to befriend her, I think.

I still need friends outside of Ravenclaw, though. The others continue to reach across house divides, while I surround myself with blue robes - nothing wrong with that, but I feel like I need to reach out more than I have. I plan to send letters this summer to Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones. Neville's parents were close friends with mama and Papa Potter, and I'd like to think that we would get along as well as he seems to with the gryffindor three. Susan's aunt is my godmother, and while I've spoken with her quite a bit over the past two years, I haven't really spent much time with Susan. It's high time I changed that.

As for the rest? Chaser has me curious about his Defense professor. While we've not discussed her specifically, I wonder why she didn't end up a professor here as well as there. So I'm going to look up the Knights and Ketterhagens, and see what I can find. If she exists here, maybe she needs a job?

It will undoubtedly be a busy holiday - my favorite kind.

oOoOoOoOo

24 June 1993

Harry,

Yes, next time I'm in Diagon Alley I'd love to stop by and have lunch. My Gran will probably be there with me, if that's alright. If that doesn't work, maybe we can meet up for ice cream or something. I mean, whatever you want is fine, just let me know.

Thanks for the letter,

Neville Longbottom

oOoOoOoOo

25 June 1993

Dear Harry,

I hope your summer has started off as well as mine has. Daddy tells me that we'll be travelling for most of the holiday, so I won't be able to visit that often. Maybe I'll come with him to the office on the Alley, and we can have lunch?

Whenever you teach the others how to write in your secret Goblin code, can I learn too? That way, you and I will be able to actually talk about the super secret project you're working on without worrying about revealing too much to daddy and whoever else sees our letters.

Until then, I guess I'll have to feed the wrackspurts. So, don't forget to tell what's-her-name about the you-know-what in the book about that-one-thing you got from you-know-where. She'll probably have seen it already, but will want confirmation.

Tell your mother and father I said hello. I already wrote to Erik, but you can tell him I said hello as well.

Luna

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

From the Journal of Chaser Potter  
21 June 1993

How weird is it that I kind of think of myself as Chaser when I write here?

Seeker and I talk sometimes about why we play the positions we play. For him, his first time on a broom was when he chased Malfoy during their flying lesson, while I've been flying for years. He's never been to a match between real league teams, while I've been to a dozen. I even went to a camp one summer, though under a fake name and glamours to keep Uncle Padfoot from freaking out about my safety.

Even with years of flying, though, from the sound of it Seeker might be the better of the two of us - on a broom, at least.

What he doesn't have is my eye.

Dad has had me running chaser drills for years now, and I like to think I'm a good shot. I'm proud of what I can make a quaffle do, you know - and so is my dad. It's all in the wrist, after all.

One summer, Dad took me to lunch in muggle London, and we ended up in one of those pubs where there are televisions everywhere with different sports on them. I saw one that had a game called baseball on, and couldn't take my eyes off of it. There's a player who throws a ball at a batter, and the batter has to hit the ball to put it in play. It's not like Quidditch, where the balls are _always_ in play, so it seemed odd at first.

Then I saw the pitcher throw the ball. _Wow_.

That man could do anything he wanted with that ball. He could put spin on it and make it curve in the air, he could throw it fast, or he could make it look fast but actually fly slower, all to trick the batter into swinging at it and missing.

Baseball wasn't the only muggle sport that made me rethink being a chaser. Dad told me a story one time about my grandfather on mom's side. He used to play a game called cricket, where - again - one player throws a small ball at another. This time, the 'bowler' is trying to knock over a 'wicket', and the batter is trying to stop the ball. It's more complicated than that, but you get the idea.

Spin, bounce, arm movement - everything combined to let a good bowler do pretty much whatever he wants. _That's_ the sort of chaser I want to be. Put a quaffle in my hand, and tell me where to fly, and I want to know that I'll get that quaffle in the goal every time.

I found myself thinking about the fight with the diary, this past winter. When the Sorting Hat presented Marigold with aid, it gave her the Shield of Gryffindor. Later, when Rose faced off against the basilisk, the hat produced the lost Blade of Slytherin. Now, if Seeker had been in that position, I'm betting he'd pull out the Sword of Gryffindor. Spellforged - if he didn't rely on his own knife - would end up with a ridiculous Goblin axe or something.

So, what would I end up with? I don't know, did Godric Gryffindor ever have a famous bow? I don't see myself charging in and swinging a sword. No, I picture myself at the edge of the battle, waiting for the exact moment to strike - and then making sure that my arrow flies true.

That's the big difference between Seeker and I, I think. He has to rely on luck, because he really can't control when and where the snitch will pop up. Me? I have to make my own luck.

I'm proud of the name my siblings have given me. _Chaser_. It fits.

oOoOoOoOo

28 June 1993

Dear Pup,

I'm happy that you're enjoying the holiday so far. Your dad told me that you came home with a stack of study guides for Defense - good on you! Just don't study too hard. Listen to me, telling someone not to study too hard - I'm sure your dad can tell you why that's funny.

It's flattering of you to suggest that I'd make a good teacher, but I'm happy with the job I've got. The hours are good, the pay is great, and I get to see your dad more often than I would as a professor.

You're young, so you probably don't quite get the lure. I understand that. So I'll make you a deal - when you're old enough, I'll give you the first bottle we finish on your birthday, and you can have your first taste of Scotch, courtesy the distillery that bears your family's name.

I'll be up next week to see you, since it's a full moon. After I'm recovered, maybe we can talk Padfoot and your dad into a pickup game?

Take care,

Uncle Moony

oOoOoOoOo

29 June 1993

Dear Uncle Moony,

Who says you can't teach history and run Potter Distillery at the same time?

If you wrote down half of what you told me last winter about Salazar Slytherin, I'd bet you could get your Mastery in History. After that, well - I know a certain third year who would rather have you tutoring him in history than sit through another year learning about the Goblin Rebellions.

Hey, wait a second - do Goblins learn about the rebellions in _their_ school? I bet they do. I wonder what they call them. Wizarding Wars, I'd think.

Maybe that's a project for your mastery - cultural differences between the Goblin Nation and Wizarding Britain.

Or maybe I'm overthinking it. Or maybe _I'll_ get my Mastery with that topic, and you'll be out of luck. Better get moving, Moony!

See you next week,

Harry

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

From the Journal of Marigold Potter  
21 June 1993

Today was the first Monday of the holidays, and I've already made a spectacle of myself.

Hermione invited me over to her house for the first week of vacation. She and her parents are travelling for most of the holiday, and they suggested that she spend some time with one of her friends. So, I get a reprieve from the Dursleys for an extra week.

(I'm much less worried about this summer than the last, now that they've had a year of therapy and enough group sessions to get themselves together. And, really, I'll be spending more time with Sirius than I will with the Dursleys this summer. So, things are happening. Not fast enough for my liking, though, but what can you do?)

This morning, at my request, we went with Hermione's mum to the family dentist's office. Hermione wanted to show me the family business, and give me a tour of Crawley. I kind of wanted to see how a muggle healer's office worked. Doctor Granger (" _Call me Charlotte, dear")_ noticed my interest, and loaned me an old copy of a book called _Gray's Anatomy_.

By midmorning, with patients coming in, we decided to walk through town and visit some of the shops. When Hermione told me about Crawley, I always pictured a small little village, but the reality is that there are almost 70,000 people who live here. Plenty of people to fill a good dentist's schedule.

It also means that there's plenty to see. That, unfortunately, was the problem.

The fourth shop we visited was an old record store. There were aisle upon aisle of crates, each with stacks of vinyl records of every kind. Cassette tapes lined the walls. They even had compact discs, new enough that I hadn't even seen them yet, Dudley not being much of a music lover.

Hermione, of course, went right to the new thing, wanting to see how exactly they worked. I browsed some of the records, smiling at her eager questions for the hapless clerk.

I heard someone mention that an artist named David Bowie had his whole catalogue copied onto the shiny little discs, and was one of the first musicians to do so. As a demonstration, the clerk decided to play one of his favorites.

The faint sound of drums did nothing. Nor did the first strains of guitar. It wasn't until the man's voice came onto the track that I felt something go wrong.

Let's back up. I had no idea who the hell Major Tom is, or why he needs his protein pills and his helmet. I still don't. But there was something about that song that just _wrecked_ me. I had my back to Hermione and the clerk, so they did not see me begin to weep. The thing that bothers me is this - I started crying before the sad part of the song.

I guess Major Tom goes up into space and floats around, as one does, and then his capsule develops a problem and he can't return home. So he just floats off into space, where I guess he dies in some horrifying way after the song ends. I didn't care about Major Tom. If you asked me, I would tell you that I had never heard that song before in my life. Yet here I was, weeping, the instant the tune hit my ears.

Hermione saw that my hair was beginning to get a bit of static, a sign of accidental magic waiting to happen. When the CD skipped a bit, she thanked the clerk and ushered me out of the store. We ended up sitting on a park bench while I calmed down. By the time we had lunch with her mother, I was fine.

By mutual agreement, neither of us mentioned the incident. The fact that Hermione _doesn't_ have a dozen questions for me just tells me how well she knows my moods - and how serious she is about giving me my space.

I need to talk to Madam Cornwall. Maybe I'll send her an owl tonight.

oOoOoOoOo

23 June 1993

Golden Girl,

I'll admit, I have very little idea what sort of music your mum and dad liked. That's not to say that they didn't enjoy music, both muggle and magical, but simply that I couldn't tell you any of their favorite bands or acts or whatever.

If I heard a song they enjoyed, I might remember it. _Might_. There are some memories that just won't be the same after a decade, Mari, and unfortunately music is a big one. When is relaxing and listening to good music _not_ a happy memory?

You should give your friend Hermione a hug - she already wrote to me asking the same questions as you did. She's a friend for life, that one.

I'm still coming to your friend's house for dinner next Tuesday, so we can talk more then, if you like. It'll be nice to meet Hermione and her parents. And, of course, it's always a pleasure to spend time with my favorite goddaughter.

Take care, Mari.

Love,

Padfoot

oOoOoOoOo

2 July 1993

Dear Marigold,

I never did properly thank you for helping me get caught up with classes this year. Getting petrified was not how I wanted to start off my time at Hogwarts, as you know - but it worked out in the end, and my grades were much better than I expected.

You and Neville and Hermione should open a tutoring business. You'd make money hand over fist - that's how much you three helped me out.

Enclosed is a small gift. It's just a muggle picture, of course, but of all the shots I took this year, it's one of my favorites. I took it just as the boats rounded the edge of the lake, and the castle came into view. It seemed like the sky cleared for just that moment, and the castle was lit up and shining.

I call it _A Beginning_. Hope you like it.

Have a good summer! Thanks again.

Best,

Colin Creevey

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

From the Journal of Rose Potter  
21 June 1993

I'm not writing in a fucking journal, Spellforged, are you insane? Did you _see_ what writing in a diary did to Ginny Weasley? I don't care if it's a muggle journal or an enchanted one - Nope.

oOoOoOoOo

From the Journal of Rose Potter  
22 June 1993

I know. I'll turn this into a grimoire, filled with custom spells. Astoria already plans to go into spellcrafting, I'll bet she'd love to have an assistant.

Our first hex? Something that will smack a certain ravenclaw upside the back of the head across time and space.

Maybe if I ignore him, he'll get the hint. Oh, wait, he's literally in my head.

oOoOoOoOo

From the Journal of Rose Potter  
24 June 1993

How can someone who I've never met know me so well?

Spellforged asked if I had written in my journal yesterday, and I told him that I had. After a moment, he just said " _Really?_ " It was as if he was not mad, but disappointed, and it annoyed the hell out of me.

I'm stuck with this, aren't I?

oOoOoOoOo

27 June 1993

Dear Rose,

Tori and I both keep journals, as you know. Honestly, I'm surprised it took you this long to pick up the habit. It helps to talk things through with yourself, sometimes. You should stick with it. You never know, you might be able to explain things to yourself and have them make more sense than they did before.

Two weeks! Tori has already set up the tent and made sure it's just the way we want it. Dad has supplies ready to go. I've even talked Mom into coming along.

Worst case, we get to go camping for a week and just relax. But if you're right, and there is a secret manor house on Gairsay Island? Can you imagine how exciting a find that would be?

Can't wait.

DG

oOoOoOoOo

28 June 1993

Daphne,

You have absolutely _no idea_ how right you are. As usual.

I'm ready to go today, honestly - think your dad could be talked into cutting his trip short to come home early? He can stop by Surrey on the way home, I wouldn't mind a bit.

Rose

oOoOoOoOo

From the Journal of Rose Potter  
29 June 1993

...Fine.

But if I catch myself writing _Dear Diary,_ I'm going to burn this journal immediately and be done.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

From the Journal of Harry Potter _ **  
**_22 June 1993

I've spent a day thinking about what to write in this journal. I'm not fighting the idea like Rose is, I want to get my thoughts down onto paper and read through them. I just don't know what to talk about.

I can't even really talk about myself, can I? After all, there's sort of five of me.

Spellforged has his projects and his Goblin training. Rose has her expedition, as she called it, to unearth the secrets of Gairsay Island. Marigold is jumping into healing with both feet. Chaser is travelling with our his father, and probably doing quidditch stuff.

I'm sitting in my room on Privet Drive, writing.

Should I be busier? I don't know. Padfoot says that I should enjoy being young while I have the chance, because once you're old, you're _old._ But even so, I feel like I need to grab my life with both hands and do something with it.

My big Hogwarts project is bridging the divide between the houses, but even then Rose has had more immediate success than I have. She has half a dozen witches across three houses - four, if you add her Neville in, even though he pretty much tutors in Herbology.

Meanwhile, I have Daphne Greengrass. I know she'll end up being a close friend as time goes by, because that's just how she is. The fact that a version of her is already close friends with a version of me just proves the point.

How would I handle things differently if I didn't have examples and counterpoints swimming in my head? Would I just have accepted Lockhart if I didn't have the example of Professor Knight to compare him to? Would I have gone into the third floor corridor if I hadn't known what to expect?

I would not trade my siblings in for anything - they are my family. Even as close as I know Padfoot and I will be, I'll never have him in my head as I do with my brothers and sisters.

It also means that I need to work harder, I guess.

Oh - so I just had a thought over dinner. Vernon was talking about some shipment of knock-off parts that ended up breaking one of the machines at his work. They looked exactly the same, but the metal wasn't as strong, and they broke under pressure.

Am I a version of my siblings, or are they versions of me? And if push comes to shove, will I be the knock off version of Spellforged? One that breaks under pressure?

No, I don't think I am. I think I just need to get out of this house and go _do_ something.

I've got nine weeks ahead of me. I'd better make them count.

oOoOoOoOo

25 June 1993

Dear Harry,

Of course, I'd be happy to assist you in any way I can. I know you've already met Foecleaver, but I would be happy to sit in on a meeting between the two of you, if you like. My oath is to both you personally and to House Potter, so you can believe me when I tell you that I will keep your welfare first and foremost in my mind as we go.

The work at The Hague is mostly done - thank you, magic! The biggest challenge in building wizarding structures is knowing when to use charms and runes and the like to make the space do what you want it to do - and when not to. The good architects know how to manage this balance in a way that serves the needs of whoever plans to use the building.

The great architects, on the other hand? They know to use only as much magic as necessary.

It's a fine line to walk. When you see the Atrium next month, I think you'll understand. You and Sirius are still coming, right?

Let me know when you're staying with the esteemed Lord Black in London, and I'll make a point to stop by for dinner one night. If you have more questions, keep them coming - I may not be able to answer everything, but what I can tell, I will.

Your Servant,

Joseph Hillyer  
Proxy for the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **If I left off the headings for each section, I believe you'd still be able to tell who wrote what. That I feel good about how this little interlude came together is a huge relief, because it's easily the sort of chapter that could fall apart under scrutiny. Here, I wanted to give each of the five a moment to talk to the camera, for lack of a better term. I hope it works as well as I think it does.**

 **The one corner I cut was in the first three lines. I don't know what names Goblins may come up with for their months, nor do I have any idea what to use as a word for "ceasefire". So, I may have used Klingon. This, of course, reinforces the idea that the Goblin Nation is actually some odd blend of Ferengi and Klingon culture.**

 **No, I'm not writing another AU. If you want to write about Goblins being an offshoot of Klingons, have at. I just wanted to steal a few words, because lazy.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	52. Bring Your Apprentice To Work Day

Spellforged sat at the dinner table, staring at his father, who continued to eat as if he had said nothing.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked.

Ragnok looked at his son. "I said that you still need to schedule an apprentice trial, Harry."

Once a young goblin reached a certain level of education, it was customary for that goblin to become an apprentice to one of the more experienced goblins of Gringott's. A trial would be held, where the prospective apprentice would spend a day working in the chosen job, to see if it was a good fit. After all, a goblin who worked in a job they hated was likely to grow bitter, and bitter goblins were more likely to make mistakes.

It went unsaid that bitter goblins were more likely to accept bribes or bend rules - crimes that could impact treaties, if severe enough.

"I was not planning on a formal apprenticeship, father," Spellforged replied, carefully.

Ragnok gave him a toothy grin. "Oh, I know that. But it is a milestone that every young goblin must follow nonetheless. A rite of passage, if you will."

"That's true," Spellforged allowed. "So, what happened to our conversation after I got off the train?"

Ragnok's smile faded a little. "I don't know what you are talking about."

Now Spellforged grinned. "I seem to recall being told that you were worried that I had grown up too fast, that I was not spending an adequate amount of time being a young wizard."

Ragnok took a bite of his dinner, saying nothing.

"So, as part of your plan to get me to relax and be a kid for the summer, you're having me put in a day's worth of unpaid labor?"

The Director sat up straight at that, anger in his features. "Who said anything about unpaid labor?"

"What?" was the response form Spellforged.

"Our children are one of our most precious resources, my son," Ragnok intoned, as if quoting from a speech. "We pay them their due, always."

Then, the old goblin leaned toward Spellforged, the toothy grin having returned to his features. "But you'll have to earn every knut."

Spellforged shivered at the chill that ran down his spine.

oOoOoOoOo

 _6:00 am_

 **/Welcome, Mister Spellforged,/** began Foecleaver, as his apprentice sat down at the desk. The floor of the bank was almost entirely empty of customers, leaving most of the tellers and managers to catch up on parchment work as they prepared for the day.

 **/You're enjoying this, aren't you?/** grumbled Spellforged, even as a hint of a smile played across his features.

 **/Let it be said that I've been looking forward to your trial day since I became one of your teachers, young sir./**

Spellforged rolled his eyes. **/I'm sure you have,/** he said.

 **/Just so,/** agreed Foecleaver. He slid a stack of leatherbound books toward Spellforged's end of the desk. **/Today, we begin with statements./**

"Of course we do," muttered Spellforged, as he began to lay out his parchment and enchanted quill.

oOoOoOoOo

 _7:30 am_

A young teller came up to them just as Spellforged was finishing with the day's statements.

 **/Honored Manager,/** he began. **/A customer requires your assistance./**

Spellforged and Foecleaver both looked in the direction indicated, and saw an elderly witch waiting impatiently. Foecleaver seemed to deflate a little when he recognized who exactly it was.

 **/Go retrieve the Robinson ledger, Harry,/** instructed Foecleaver. **/Lord Robinson has been indiscreet again./**

As Foecleaver walked over to the counter, Spellforged moved toward the back offices, eager to avoid what would clearly be an uncomfortable conversation.

oOoOoOoOo

 _8:15 am_

Lady Robinson had been livid that galleons from her family's estate had been used to pay for "those women," despite all assurances from her Lord husband that he had stopped seeing his mistresses altogether.

Foecleaver had hoped that sending Spellforged off to gather records would spare him the brunt of the discussion, but every time he returned Lady Robinson decided that she had to repeat every complaint she had made, whether they involved the bank or not.

Eventually, she was convinced - more by the guards than by Foecleaver - that her complaints were best reserved for her husband. Before she left, however, she did make a point of telling Spellforged that he was a nice boy, and a good listener.

 **/You did well, Harry,/** said Foecleaver.

 **/Did she realize that I'm almost thirteen?/** Spellforged replied. Part of him wondered if anything would top this level of awkwardness.

His discomfort had bled through the link enough to get Chaser's attention. His response, when Spellforged explained the incident, was a resounding _Ewww._

Before Foecleaver could reply, a witch approached their desk. The witch was the same height as Spellforged, with curly black hair and dark skin. As Spellforged looked up at her, he caught a glance from her brown eyes, and got an impression of sadness and determination mixed together. Her robes were a dark fabric with light purple accents, and there was something about that shade of purple that seemed familiar to Spellforged, though he could not place it.

Once she was standing before them, she waited to be addressed. In terms of Goblin culture, it was a polite gesture, for it allowed the goblin to satisfy himself that she was not an overt threat. After that first glance, she ignored Spellforged to focus on the more senior member of the bank's staff, facing herself toward Foecleaver.

"May I be of assistance, Madam?" Foecleaver asked.

"My husband is missing," she said, with a weariness that described how very many times she had spoken that phrase. "I need the aid of Gringott's to find him."

"Indeed?" said Foecleaver, one eyebrow raised. "Such matters are usually the province of the DMLE, or so I am told."

"The Ministry refuses to do anything," she replied, bitterly. "His employer told me merely that he decided to take an extended sabbatical, and that he would be in touch."

"I see. And has he responded to your letters?"

"Owls sent to him go to his employer, who returns them." She shook her head. "No one will tell me anything, and I have no other options, sir." She sighed heavily. "I need help."

Foecleaver considered her for a moment, as if debating her request. Presently, he gestured toward Spellforged. "Mister Spellforged will take you to a meeting room, where someone will come to discuss the matter with you. I cannot promise anything, but they will at least listen."

The witch seemed to sag in relief - and Spellforged again got the impression that she had run up against more than one dead end in her search. "Thank you, Master Goblin."

The goblin shook his head. "Nonsense. How can we know how to answer you if we do not know the question?" At that, he nodded to Spellforged, who stood.

"This way, Madam," he said, indicating a door against the far wall. The woman nodded to him, and they began to cross the bank floor.

"You're awful young to work for the bank, aren't you?" she asked, clearly uncomfortable with the silence between them.

Spellforged allowed himself a smile and a nod. "My situation is somewhat unique, actually."

"Oh? How so?" As she spoke, Spellforged detected a slight German accent blended with her impeccable English one.

"My name is Harry Spellforged, Madam," he said, with some amusement that he had not been recognized. That was new.

"Harry Potter," she replied, quietly. "I see." He glanced back at her, but saw that she seemed content to drop the topic, and so he dropped the matter.

When the arrived at a meeting room, Spellforged opened the door and led the witch in. It was a smaller version of an account manager's office, set up for clients without assigned managers, or for other matters. This, he thought, would be one of those other matters.

"Please, wait here, and a manager will be with you shortly." Spellforged said, politely.

"Of course," was the quiet reply.

Spellforged stopped himself before leaving, and turned back to the room. "Please pardon me, Madam, but I'm afraid I did not catch the name of you or your husband." Off her surprise, he continued. "It might make things easier if we can start pulling records while you wait."

"I see," she said. The witch turned to him, and he saw that her eyes were watering. "My husband's name is Quirinus. Quirinus Quirrell."

Spellforged fought hard to keep the look of shock from his face. He had not known that the Professor had been married. "And your name, Madam?"

"My name is Alexandria Quirrell, lad. Alexandria Quirrell nee Ketterhagen."

oOoOoOoOo

 _9:00 am_

Chaser, as was typical, cut through the confusion.

 _So, let me get this straight,_ he began. _Professor Knight in my world is a tall, pale woman with short, white hair, whose husband was killed in South America during the seventies. There, she is a short, black woman who isn't even a professor, but she happens to be married to Quirrell?_

 _That's about it,_ replied Spellforged. _Do you know your professor's maiden name?_

 _No,_ admitted Chaser. _Not a real great way to ask that, you see._

 _Understandable,_ said Spellforged.

 _What does she do?_ Asked Chaser.

 _When she's not searching for her husband? She writes history books for the German Ministry._

 _Merlin,_ sighed Chaser. _What a mess._

 _Yeah,_ agreed Spellforged. _How do I tell her that I'm probably the last person to see her husband alive, other than Headmaster Dumbledore?_

 _And notice that your Headmaster has been avoiding her letters,_ said Chaser. _Do you know what happened after you captured Quirrellmort?_

 _Other than the fact that Father was angry that I was involved at all? No idea._ Spellforged paused, thinking back over that day. _You know, I thought the Headmaster would have handled it, but now I wonder._

 _Your Father…_ Chaser's voice trailed off. _Oh, did Quirrell rob the bank there as well?_

 _He did,_ replied Spellforged. _And that's another complication, despite the fact that he didn't actually steal anything._

 _Merlin,_ Chaser said again. _So what do you do?_

 _Me? Absolutely nothing,_ Spellforged said, with no small measure of relief. _We're going to let a foreign accounts manager speak with her, while we summon the Headmaster. If he gives us the same runaround as her, then I'll have Father casually mention that she was talking to me earlier._

 _If he's anything like the Headmistress, that will get him here quicker than anything, I would think,_ said Chaser.

 _One can only hope,_ Spellforged agreed. Rolling up the statement he had just completed, he set it to the side, before preparing the next ledger.

oOoOoOoOo

 _10:00 am_

Foecleaver was speaking with an annoyed member of the Wizengamot when John Davidson walked into Gringott's with his daughter. They looked around in awe at the cavernous space of the bank floor, By this point in the morning, the lines were beginning to grow, and the atmosphere could only be called chaotic.

Spellforged had seen wide eyes like those of the little girl before - on some of the more nervous first years at Hogwarts. The father's suit was entirely muggle, and suggested a businessman taking the morning off to purchase supplies for his daughter. The letter clutched in the girl's hand confirmed it - this was a muggleborn, taking her first steps into their world, alongside her father who would do anything for her, however nervous it made him.

Seeing that it would be a while before either a teller or Foecleaver were available, Spellforged walked over. "Good morning, can I be of assistance?"

The man looked over, and seemed to be surprised at the question. "The professor said that we needed to speak with the goblins," he stated, nervously.

"Then you've come to the right place. This is Gringott's, the Wizarding Bank." He gestured at the room, as if indicating the whole establishment. "Welcome to the London branch."

"Thank you," the man said, still looking around. "And we have to get your approval to buy supplies, then?"

Spellforged smiled. "Not exactly. Come, have a seat, I'll explain everything."

As they walked over to the desk, Spellforged learned that the man was named John Davidson, and that his daughter was named Jasmine. John worked in logistics, and owned a small trucking company that delivered goods in the west country. He had been as surprised as his wife when an owl delivered a letter for Jasmine - and even more surprised when he learned what that letter said.

Jasmine said little, but the look of wonder in her eyes was infectious.

After a few minutes of small talk, Spellforged explained how the money system worked in wizarding world, as compared to non-magical society. "Think of Wizarding Britain as if it were a foreign country," he said. "You're going to have different customs and traditions, just as any other country would. And," he continued, holding up a galleon. "You'll also have different currency."

"So there's an exchange rate against the pound?" asked John.

"Yes, but it's stable within about three percent, in either direction," Spellforged replied. "Much less volatile than the international markets, we've found."

"I see," John replied, though he still seemed unsure. "So, do we exchange pounds with one of the tellers over there?" He indicated the lengthening lines in front of the counters.

"Usually, yes, but I can go ahead and take care of you here, if you'd prefer," replied Spellforged. He took out a small wooden tray and set it on top of a strip of parchment. "Go ahead and place any bills you'd like to exchange in the tray, please."

"How much do I need?" John asked, as he reached for his billfold.

"This year will be a bit more expensive, since it's Jasmine's first. But, many of the items you buy today will be useful for all seven years, like her wand for example. Gringott's usually suggests budgeting around one hundred galleons, as that will leave some extra if Jasmine needs anything at school." As Spellforged spoke, he took a quill and wrote a figure in goblin numerals on the parchment. With a soft glow, numbers appeared next to his writing, showing the equivalent amount in pounds.

"Wow," said Jasmine.

"Magic," agreed Spellforged.

John, meanwhile, seemed to relax a bit at seeing such a simple bit of magic. As he counted out bills, he glanced at the parchment. "Does the magical bank always use parchment to calculate transactions like this?"

"No, actually," said Spellforged. "I just thought it might be simpler than rattling off the number from the top of my head." Jasmine's giggle drew a smile from both wizard and muggle alike.

By the time John had placed the currency in the tray, a runner had arrived with a small sack of galleons, sickles, and knuts. Spellforged explained the differences, and that there were so many sickles to a galleon, and so many knuts to a sickle. When the inevitable question came, he shrugged and said that it had been decided centuries ago to do it that way, and no one wanted to change it.

"It seems silly," commented Jasmine.

"I think you'll find, Miss Davidson, that many things about the Wizarding World are fairly silly. But you get used to it after a while."

Mister Davidson had several more questions after that. No, he did not need to set up an account with the bank, but Jasmine might want to do so as she got older. Yes, he could give the bank one of his business cards, even though most of the bank's transportation needs were handled magically. No, the bank did not close, though some services were only available during the daytime.

It was the last question that amused Spellforged. "No, Gringott's does not offer a purchasing card or a credit card like non-magical banks might," he said. "Those are usually linked by computers, and we don't have any - so there would be no way to link such a card with an account. There are magical alternatives that work for large purchases, but not in the non-magical world."

John shrugged. "No problem, figured it was worth asking."

Spellforged waved off the concern. "You'd be amazed how often we get that question, actually. Don't worry about it."

Jasmine's patience seemed to have run out at that point, and her father could tell. Rising, the older man thanked Spellforged for his time. "You seem young to be working at a bank," remarked John.

Spellforged had wondered how long it would take before that came up. Before he could speak, he heard the voice of Foecleaver behind him.

"Mister Spellforged had the good fortune to be adopted by two employees of this establishment, and has chosen to work toward an apprenticeship among our ranks." The senior manager nodded toward the Davidsons. "I trust he has performed his duties adequately?"

"He was very nice," agreed Jasmine. John raised an eyebrow at the comment, as did Spellforged.

Foecleaver let out a bark of laughter. "High praise, indeed, Miss Davidson. I shall make a note of it." He turned to Spellforged. "I trust you will make yourself available to Miss Davidson once you return to Hogwarts, should she have need, Mister Spellforged?"

He grinned. "Of course, Senior Accounts Manager." He gave Foecleaver an exaggerated bow, earning another giggle from Jasmine.

oOoOoOoOo

 _11:15 am_

"Please take this wizard to Steelclaw's office, Apprentice."

Looking up from his parchments, Spellforged saw a tall wizard standing before him. His robes were rumpled and well-worn, but serviceable. His scarred face seemed tired and weary, for reasons Spellforged could not identify.

He glanced over at Foecleaver, who seemed to have a slight grin, as if he were laughing at a private joke. When the goblin saw Spellforged's look, he waved a hand toward the back offices. "Off you go, time is money!"

"Of course," answered Spellforged, standing. "Please follow me, sir."

The wizard seemed content to follow Spellforged quietly, not making conversation as they walked. He seemed distracted, and Spellforged wondered if he had made the appointment for himself, or been summoned.

Come to think of it, why was this particular wizard meeting with Steelclaw? There were only a few surviving members of the Black family, and this wizard was not among them.

Arriving at the Black Accounts Manager's office, Spellforged knocked three times.

 **/Come!/** was the response. Spellforged opened the door, and found Steelclaw sitting at his desk - across from Sirius Black.

The goblin shared a glance with Sirius, before grinning at Spellforged. **/Thank you, Junior Apprentice Spellforged./** Steelclaw's voice was filled with amusement.

Before Spellforged could answer him, he heard a gasp from the doorway.

"Padfoot?" the wizard said, in a shaking voice.

Sirius was standing, now. "Hello, Moony," answered Sirius.

Spellforged stepped out of the way, as the tall wizard almost stumbled toward Sirius. The two men hugged, and it almost sounded like Moony was on the edge of tears.

"Padfoot," he said quietly.

"It's me." was the reply.

 _Chaser,_ Spellforged asked across the link.

It was Seeker who responded first, however. _If you catch him while he's flying again, Spellforged, he's going to be annoyed._

 _I can walk and eat a sugar quill at the same time, thank you very much,_ Chaser answered.

 _As can we all,_ replied Spellforged. _Listen, you talk sometimes about one of your father's friends, an Uncle Moony?_

 _Yes, he and Padfoot and dad were friends during school._ Spellforged noticed the omission of the fourth member of their group, the betrayer Pettigrew. _Why?_

 _He just came to meet with Steelclaw and Sirius,_ said Spellforged. _What is his name?_

Chaser's voice was worried, even over the link. _Remus Lupin. Here, he runs a distillery for the Potter family._ He paused, considering the question. _Sirius has been out for a year now, more than that. Why is he just now coming back?_

 _Maybe he was overseas?_ As usual, none of them had known Rose was listening in.

 _I'll ask. If he was friends with our parents…_ Spellforged's voice trailed off.

 _Yeah,_ agreed Seeker. _We should ask Sirius what happened._

 _Wizarding Britain isn't a great place for a werewolf to find work these days. He could have gone anywhere._

Chaser's nonchalant mention of Lupin's status as a werewolf gave everyone pause, before Rose broke the silence.

 _Way to bury the lead, Chaser._

 _Oi,_ he sputtered.

Spellforged focused himself on the conversation in front of him, and picked up a quiet question from Sirius.

"Have you spoken with Dumbledore?"

Lupin shook his head. "I got the notice from Gringott's in Zurich, and came straight here."

Sirius shook his head, still smiling. "Ten years, Moony, so much has changed. Have you even seen the Prophet?"

"Of course not, they know how worthless that rag is on the continent."

Sirius glanced at Spellforged, and winked. _Oh, no,_ Spellforged thought. Glancing over at Steelclaw, he saw that the goblin was already prepared for the prank.

"Then, you have no idea what happened to Harry?" Sirius asked, calmly.

Lupin's eyes grew wide. "What happened to Harry?" He seemed to tense up like a coiled spring, ready to rush out of the office and start searching.

Sirius chuckled to himself. "Why don't you ask him?"

The comment took a moment to sink in, but when it did Lupin's eyes narrowed. Then, he slowly turned toward the door, where Spellforged remained standing.

"Good morning, Mister Lupin," Spellforged said. "I'm Harry, pleased to meet you."

Lupin was completely stunned. "You, but…"

"His adoptive parents raised him right, I think. They've turned him into a proper Goblin, they have." Sirius was fighting his laughter, now.

Turning his head from Spellforged to Sirius, and back, Lupin didn't know what to say. He managed a stuttering "P-Parents?" before looking to Spellforged.

With a grin, Spellforged nodded. "My adoptive father is Director Ragnok of the Clan Ragnok, Mister Lupin."

Lupin turned back to Sirius. "The Goblin King?" he asked, weakly.

Now, Sirius burst into laughter. "Got to admit, it's a hell of a prank, right Moony?"

oOoOoOoOo

 _12:45 pm_

Spellforged enjoyed lunch in Steelclaw's office, as it was a chance to catch up with his newfound Uncle Moony. Apparently, he had left Britain in 1982, when the Wizengamot made noises about rounding up the werewolves. While the effort amounted to nothing, it did make people like Remus quite wary about returning.

With the assurance of the Headmaster that Harry was safe, and knowing that his only other living friend was a convicted murderer, Lupin had little reason to stay.

As he walked back to the bank floor, Spellforged listened to the discussion across the link. It was lively.

Seeker wished that Lupin had sought him out at some point, as did Marigold. The unspoken reasoning was that it would have gotten them away from the Dursleys that much quicker. Rose, for her part, noted that there was no world in which the Ministry would have allowed a werewolf to adopt any child, let alone the child-who-lived. _Certainly not under Minister Bagnold,_ she remarked.

It was a fair point, made stronger by the fact that none of the other four could really speak intelligently about the Bagnold administration. When Seeker pointed that out, the others could almost sense her smirk over the link.

 _It's remarkable what one overhears in the snake's den,_ the Slytherin remarked.

Spellforged was shaken from his thoughts when a goblin ran into him in the corridor, shoving him into the wall as they passed. It was more than a bump - the goblin had shoved him in the small of the back.

 **/Out of the way, wand waver!/** the goblin shouted over his shoulder. Spellforged had not gotten a good look at the goblin, other than to note the runner's outfit he wore, but the voice was good enough. It had been Slantedge, the nephew of Knifeclaw, accounts manager for the Malfoys.

Clearly, Slantedge had not earned his way to a spot as a teller, if he was still a runner. By this point, most goblins their age had either moved on to the teller counters, or had become apprentices to one of the managers, healers, or artisans in the caverns below. That he still held a junior position told Spellforged that Slantedge still had an anger problem.

It could also have something to do with the duel they had fought, two years ago. Slantedge had loudly taunted Spellforged when his Hogwarts letter came, eventually demanding combat. Spellforged had proceeded to defeat him easily, something that the goblin had never forgiven.

By long custom, no one would expect Ragnok to retaliate - the honor duel had satisfied any claims there might be. But nothing stopped the managers from taking Slantedge's actions into account when reviewing his readiness for advancement.

Spellforged shook his head, smiling to himself. Slantedge and Draco Malfoy were more alike than either would want to admit.

oOoOoOoOo

 _1:15 pm_

"Ah, Harry my boy, I trust you are enjoying your summer?"

Spellforged looked up to see Headmaster Dumbledore standing at his desk, smiling down on him. With a glance to Foecleaver, who nodded, Spellforged stood up.

"So far, Headmaster. And how are you today?"

Dumbledore's smile faded. "I was having a fascinating discussion about the latest Cannons match with Professor Sinestra, when I received a summons to Gringott's."

"Yes, I imagine that came as a surprise," said Spellforged. "Please, follow me, Headmaster."

When the two wizards entered the back corridors, Spellforged explained the reasoning for the summons. Dumbledore paled when he learned that Professor Quirrell's wife was at the bank.

"She says that owls sent to her husband go to the school, Headmaster," Spellforged continued. "I know it's not my place to ask, but…"

"I understand, Mister Spellforged," said Dumbledore, all trace of his good humor having vanished. "Professor Quirrell remains in custody, pending the removal of the parasite." He looked over at Spellforged as they walked. "It was a good suggestion, Harry."

 _Don't put this on me, Headmaster,_ Spellforged thought. _I didn't bait the Dark Lord in a school, after all._

But that thought brought another, much more unwelcome one, and Spellforged had to ask the question.

"Headmaster, could it be that his wife knew about Voldemort?"

Dumbledore paused, as if in thought, before giving Spellforged a grave look. "Madam Quirrell has a remarkably low tolerance for dark magic, Harry. I very much doubt she would have approved of anything like what we found when Quirrell was apprehended."

Spellforged nodded at that. Something in what the Headmaster had said, however, reminded him of something Chaser had mentioned earlier. Figuring that he would have no better shot at asking such a question, Spellforged took his chance.

"Did you know her parents, then, sir? You speak as if you did."

"I did indeed, Harry. Her father was a wizard named Rickard Ketterhagen, and he taught History at Durmstrang in the 1930's. When Grindelwald began recruiting in that part of Europe, Rickard very publicly rejected him - forcing him to flee. He moved to Germany, but then the muggle war forced him to leave that country as well. He found himself in North Africa, working with the Allies as a healer. He met his wife there, and moved back to Germany with her after both wars had ended." Dumbledore's eyes got a faraway look, as the memories came to him. "Rickard was many things, Harry, but tolerant of the Dark Arts he was not. I daresay his daughter would feel much the same."

"I see," said Harry. In the Headmaster's description, he could hear the elements of Professor Knight in the tale of the man who had to be her father. Perhaps, in Chaser's world, the man had stayed in Europe, and found a very different bride?

Before Spellforged could say anything further, they arrived at the meeting room. "Do you want me to attend this meeting as well, Headmaster?" The unspoken request was obvious - _Do you want me to admit to being one of the last people to see Quirinus Quirrell?_

To Spellforged's relief, Dumbledore shook his head. "That will not be necessary, Mister Spellforged. Thank you."

Spellforged nodded in acknowledgement, as was proper for an apprentice. Then, he knocked on the door, and watched as Dumbledore entered.

It was a very quiet Harry Spellforged who returned to the bank floor.

oOoOoOoOo

 _3:30 pm_

Foecleaver had had a brief meeting at 3pm with a wizard who expected to upgrade the security on their vault. Unfortunately for them, the business feeding galleons into the vault had come under DMLE scrutiny, and its assets had been frozen pending an investigation.

The meeting had been brief because the wizard decided that drawing his wand was the best way to resolve the conflict. Spellforged had been returning from an errand, and watched the wizard reach into his robes, pulling out his wand and aiming it at Foecleaver.

Spellforged was carrying his knife, as every goblin must, but it was under his robes. He was _not_ carrying his wand, for he could not use magic outside of school. Not officially, at any rate - and even in the Alley and on the bank floor, the Boy-Who-Lived using his wand in Gringott's would certainly cause talk. He might not get a letter from the Ministry, but it was a sure bet that he _would_ get a visit from the DMLE - and that said nothing about the talking to he'd receive from the Director after everything was said and done.

What Spellforged was carrying, however, was plenty. The small sack of galleons in his hand was only about a third full, with maybe fifty galleons - if that. _It will do,_ he thought, as he stepped to the side to get a clearer shot.

As the wizard angrily shouted at Foecleaver, a sack of galleons struck him in the side of the head. Shocked, he dropped his wand, his hands going to his face as he screeched in pain. That was all the time the guards needed to reach the desk, polearms in hand and ready. One brought the flat of his axe against the backs of the wizard's knees, dropping him easily. The other brought his wrists together at the small of the wizard's back, before affixing steel cuffs to the prisoner.

The whole fight took about fifteen seconds. To Spellforged's surprise, several witches and wizards still in line clapped at the spectacle.

Foecleaver sighed, shaking his head. "Mister Jugson, your wisdom is outstripped only by your wealth, more's the pity." The guards shared a look of amusement at the insult, knowing as they did that the man acted as he had because he was broke. With a nod, the guards dragged the wizard away.

With a sigh, Foecleaver closed the now unneeded ledger, handing it to Spellforged. **/Why don't you take this back to my office, Harry, and then take a break. You've certainly earned one./**

 **/Of course, thank you,/** replied Spellforged.

 **/No, Mister Spellforged, thank you./**

The trouble started in the back hallways. The quickest path to Foecleaver's office was blocked by two arguing goblins, both runners. Rolling his eyes, Spellforged took another route, only this time he was blocked by one of the bulky carts used to retrieve larger artifacts or trunks from vaults.

 _One is an accident,_ Spellforged thought to himself. _Twice is a coincidence._ He turned another corner, and stopped. _Three times is enemy action._

Standing before him was Slantedge and two other goblins, all with blades in hand. Spellforged could not name the two hangers-on, though he recognized them from the goblin lessons of his youth. The resemblance to Crabbe and Goyle came to mind, and Spellforged could not help but smirk.

 **/Do we amuse you, wand waver?/** spat Slantedge. **/Is there something funny about the simple little creatures you find yourself stealing from?/**

 **/Your words are stale, Slantedge,/** replied Spellforged. **/These are old arguments, and you know it. The Director accepts me, the Clans accept me, and our shieldmates accepted me./** He tilted his head, wondering what brought this on. **/Every goblin our age came to deal with me as one warrior to another years ago. All except you, Slantedge of Clan Knifeclaw./**

Slantedge pointed his knife at Spellforged, who had yet to draw his own weapon. **/You have no place here! How dare you think you can be one of us? You disgrace yourself in our own tongue, even though the words do not fit in your mouth!/**

Spellforged took a half step back, shifting his stance and letting his robes fall open, allowing him access to the knife on his belt. Slantedge saw the move, and nearly lost his mind.

 **/Draw your stick, coward - the first spell you cast will be the end of you, as it should have been long ago!/** Slantedge was almost shrieking now, and Spellforged wondered why no one had noticed the confrontation. Of course, it was likely that this location had been chosen for a reason.

 **/I need no wand to deal with you, Slantedge,/** said Spellforged, his voice calmer than he felt. His hand went to the knife, only to find that it was stuck in its sheath.

The grin on Slantedge's face was savage. **/You don't deserve a Goblin weapon, boy./** So, something had been done to his knife. Spellforged's eyes grew wider as he remembered their encounter that afternoon, when Slantedge had shoved him.

"Shit," Spellforged remarked. With a bark of laughter, Slantedge waved his bookends forward.

Sliding into a fighting stance, Spellforged looked around the corridor for anything that might be useful. All he had was the ledger, and maybe a galleon or three in pocket change. Against that, he faced three blades.

The goblin on the left stepped forward, his knife arm extended. _Bad form,_ thought Spellforged, as he stepped toward the goblin. In a fight, goblin techniques relied on movement to close the distance to your opponent - but by extending his knife arm, this one allowed Spellforged to close that distance before he was ready.

Spellforged grasped the goblin's left wrist in one hand and struck the elbow with the other. With a yelp, the goblin let go of the knife. Another strike to the elbow, and the goblin fell down, cradling his injured arm.

"One," he said, simply, as he turned to the other bookend. With a shout, the goblin stepped forward, swinging his knife in front of him.

The quickest thing Spellforged could do would be to withdraw, but then who would teach Slantedge another lesson? Inverting the stolen knife, Spellforged sent it flying toward the attacker.

This goblin had the good sense to duck, even though the knife would not have hit him. When he straightened up, Spellforged was already on him, giving him the same treatment as his mate. Two elbow strikes and a kick to the knee, and down he went.

As he rotated out of his kick, Spellforged felt a pain in his thigh. Slantedge had apparently decided to throw his knife at his opponent. The knife had struck only a glancing blow, but it hurt.

More importantly, it surprised Spellforged - though it should not have. When he focused on Slantedge, he saw that the goblin was fleeing down the corridor.

Checking his leg again, his hand came away bloodied. Spellforged sighed, looking at the two whimpering goblins at his feet.

 **/Groznak,/** he muttered.

oOoOoOoOo

 _4:00 pm_

Healing Spellforged's wound was the work of moments. The healer spent much longer checking the area for any cuts he might have missed in the confusion of battle.

Spellforged suspected that they just wanted to keep him in the healer's wing long enough for his father to arrive. When he heard the door open, however, it was not Director Ragnok who told the healers to leave him to rest.

Spellforged sat up straighter in the bed, giving as deep a nod as he could to the newcomer, for it was only proper to show respect to the Elders of the Goblin Nation.

"Lady Eridani," he began. "My apologies, I would stand, but…"

The Elder smiled at him, and shook her head. "Nonsense, Mister Spellforged, you know I prefer to be informal. Besides, you are still recovering."

Spellforged did not roll his eyes at that, but it was a narrow thing. "I was told that the wound was easily healed."

"True, but you have to gather your strength even so, Harry," she said with a smile. "Your father was arguing with Knifeclaw when I came down here."

"Good," replied Spellforged. "The little bugger ambushed me."

"So he did," she agreed. "And you managed to escape with but a scratch."

"I still expect Father to schedule additional training, before I return to school." Spellforged did not relish the idea of Ragnok learning exactly _where_ he had been cut.

His eyes grew wide as he realized who else would know what had happened. The others would definitely have felt something when the knife struck, just as they had years before. _Can't wait to explain that,_ he thought.

"Perhaps that is for the best," Eridani remarked, amusement in her features.

Desperate for a change of subject, Spellforged nodded toward the roll of parchment she had been carrying. "What project has captured your interest today, Madam Elder?"

"Translations, as always, Mister Spellforged," she said with a smile at his cheek. "Why do you think I'm speaking in English with you?"

Spellforged managed to shrug. "Practice?"

"Just so," she agreed, happily. She unrolled the sheet of parchment and placed it in his lap. "These are phrases from a prophecy, but we've never been able to translate them. We have a copy of the seer's words in an old runic language, but there is no way to correlate the two. All we know is that several words are titles, and that they all begin with the same rune."

Spellforged looked at the sheet, and then up at Eridani. "I beg your pardon, Elder, but I did not lose that much blood."

Eridani's face fell. "What are you implying, exactly?"

Spellforged laid the sheet down, and ran his finger down the page. "Wands, Seven, Seventh, Blade, Sevenfold, Death, Bastion, Visit, Bowman, and so on. Simple." He looked up at her. "What language did you think this was, Madam Elder?"

The look of shock on Eridani's face was replaced with a grin. "Look again, Harry."

He looked down at the parchment, and gasped. He had not even noticed the magic washing over him, but now that he examined the words closely, he could see it. The script was unmistakable, once you knew what it was. He had seen it before, months ago, etched in stone deep beneath Hogwarts, after all. Rose had seen it etched into the famed Blade of Slytherin.

And, from the looks of it, the Goblin Nation had a prophecy in it.

 **/It's parselscript. Slytherin's gift./** Spellforged's voice was barely a whisper, as his eyes met Eridani's. **/This prophecy is in the language of serpents./**

* * *

 ** _A/N_ : This was not originally slated to be the next chapter, but once the idea came to me I had little choice. As with much that has come before, the characters sometimes write themselves. I also have a guest reviewer who took issue with the intolerable lack of Remus Lupin in the fic to date - a problem I am all too eager to correct.**

 **Rarely do we see the famous "Potter Luck" extend to Harry's summer job, but here we are. Spellforged has grown up among both the Goblin Nation (who grow up a little faster than humans, as evidenced by Harry's peers settling into careers) and the Sullivans (consummate professionals at the top of their respective fields), not to mention the Director himself. So, as we've noted before, Spellforged seems a bit more mature than the others in his year. He's aware of it, but he's by nature a workaholic - getting him to relax will be a bit of a task.**

 **I'm going to have to write an omake of Knifeclaw and Lucius Malfoy complaining about their sons, aren't I?**

 **Thank you again to all who read and review - especially the guests who discover this story and come at it with fresh eyes and an enthusiasm I can't help but love.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	53. Legacy of Blood

Seeker Potter did not enjoy his first international portkey.

Geographically, The Netherlands were not very far from Britain, only about two hundred miles or so. Even a wizard of moderate skill could create a portkey that would cover twice that distance, if they wished. Auror badges could function as a portkey in an emergency, and had to be able to reach London from anywhere in the British Isles.

The key difference with an international portkey was that it had to pass through two sets of international wards - those around Britain, and those around The Netherlands. Add to that the fact that ICW headquarters was in The Hague, and that security had been tightened due to the grand opening ceremonies, and the result was that Harry and Sirius both nearly deposited their lunches on the marble floor of the Dutch Ministry.

Seeker had taken a few portkeys with Sirius, mostly to and from Privet Drive. It was simpler than using the floo, which still annoyed the Dursleys despite their much more pleasant attitudes toward their nephew this summer. But even with that minimal practice, nothing prepared him for the trip to The Hague.

They had arrived the morning of the ceremony, leaving little time to see the sights before the grand opening began. They would attend the reception that evening, thanks to an invitation from Lord Hillyer, before making their way to a nearby hotel. The next few days would give them plenty of time for sightseeing and a short vacation, before returning to Britain after a week.

Sirius was not pleased to learn that it was Harry's first vacation. He promised that it wouldn't be the last.

The Dutch Ministry building was only a few blocks from the ICW, giving the pair an easy walk if they wanted. The _schouwer_ , or auror, who completed their paperwork suggested hiring one of the many taxis in the area, which would give them a chance to see at least a few of the sights before they made their way to Park Sorghvliet.

Their driver, a squib who spoke fluent English, was happy to give them the three-sickle tour. They drove west through the city, seeing just enough to get a feel for the place. It was a younger city than old London town, but it had a distinguished feeling. Harry got the impression that it was an important city, a serious city. Sirius noticed that many of the buildings they drove past were embassies for various muggle governments, and joked that he hadn't seen so many different flags since he took James to a quidditch final in their sixth year.

The International Court of Justice was a magnificent building, and both wizards were surprised that the muggles could build something so grand and imposing. The driver told them that the ICW had set up their headquarters near the International Court because so many of the criminal cases they dealt with involved the Statute of Secrecy - which, inevitably, meant dealing with the muggle authorities.

Many of the muggle embassies that ringed the Court had small magical counterparts, hidden away behind notice-me-nots and muggle-repelling charms and the like. It was simpler than establishing a second group of embassies for the various ministries. It also meant that the ICW campus was reserved for the organization itself.

Driving between the Indian and Malaysian embassies, the taxi came to a stop in front of a stone wall. Beyond the barrier was a large park, known to the locals as Park Sorghvliet. The park was a secluded island of quiet among the noise and bustle of an international city. Harry and Sirius paid the driver and got out. Carefully crossing the street, they followed the driver's instructions and made their way to a certain spot along the wall.

Seeker noticed that the bricks here formed a ring, indicating where to stand. Sirius pointed out the notice-me-nots that hid their presence. With his wand, he tapped on seven bricks, and watched as the wall slid open. It was a larger - and smoother - version of the entrance to Diagon Alley.

At first, the path before them seemed like any other path through a heavily wooded park. It was remarkable how the sounds of the city seemed to fall away as soon as they stepped through the barrier, leaving only the din of owls. Seeker chuckled at that - with so many coming to the dedication, the international mail owls must be busy indeed.

After a few minutes of walking, the path turned gently to the west. When they came around the bend, they saw the gleaming white facade of the Headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards. A small crowd was already milling about in front of the entrance, taking in the newly rebuilt structure. More witches and wizards were standing on the grand staircase that led up to the building, taking in the view of the city.

Two aurors - one French and one German - were checking in visitors. Harry and Sirius both allowed their wands to be tested, as that was the closest thing to an identification there could be in the magical world. Tests of blood or magic might work, but not in a public setting such as this.

The aurors took only moments to agree that yes, Lord Black and Heir Potter were who they appeared to be, before waving the pair forward. They walked into the open air, and saw that the headquarters building was actually much taller than the surrounding area. The marble steps seemed to climb forever, even though they could clearly see the top.

"You think they overdid it a little?" Sirius said.

Seeker shrugged. "Maybe they had to show how important they were."

The walk to the top was over much quicker than either wizard expected, to the point that Seeker almost fell over when he arrived at the landing. Turning around, he saw that the steps were actually quite reasonable, and not nearly as high up as they had appeared from below.

"I may need to fix that," a voice said behind him. Seeker turned, and saw Joseph Hillyer approaching, a short blonde woman on his arm.

"It's a fine prank," replied Sirius with a smile. "I'll bet some of the higher-ups didn't like it, though."

Now it was Hillyer's turn to shrug. "They saw the stairs on the plan before they approved it, what was I to do?" He gestured at the magnificent view of the acres of parkland, and the city beyond. "Half the city is below sea level, Sirius. I had to build tall."

Seeker looked over the edge of the landing, and saw how high up they actually were. "Wow," he said.

"That was my reaction as well, the first time I saw it," said the woman. She was a head shorter than Hillyer, and spoke with an odd accent that seemed to blend Welsh and American English.

"Harry, Sirius, this is my wife, Leila. My dear, you've met Sirius, and this is his godson Harry Potter, the Heir Potter, the Heir Black."

"A pleasure, Lady Hillyer," said Seeker, bowing over her hand as he had been taught.

Sirius did likewise, but had a puzzled expression. "Greetings, My Lady. Though your husband may be in error, for I am certain I would remember meeting his lovely wife."

Leila gave her husband a knowing look, before smiling back at Sirius. "It was a very long time ago, Lord Black, before the late unpleasantness."

"Ah," replied Sirius, nodding. His smile faded just a bit at the mention of the lost decade of his life. Then he brightened. "Then in that case, it is a pleasure to renew our acquaintance."

Leila couldn't help but chuckle at that. "The pleasure is ours, Sirius." She gestured to the white marble facade of the ICW headquarters. "What do you think of Joseph's work?"

"It's the biggest building I've ever seen," replied Seeker, honestly.

"The ICW has their hands in many pies, Harry," said Hillyer. "You could put four of the British Ministry in this building and still have room for a few Quidditch teams, I think." He leaned over and stage whispered. "It's bigger on the inside."

"We'll have to give you a tour this afternoon, after the ceremony," said Leila. "Until then, I fear that my husband will be busy acting modest in front of the VIPs." She laughed openly as Lord Hillyer rolled his eyes. Then she gave him a nudge, which caused him to turn and see the delegate from the Kenyan Ministry waiting to speak with him. Seeker was barely able to hear the soft sigh that escaped the architect's lips.

Straightening his robe, Lord Hillyer nodded his apologies to Harry and Sirius, before kissing his wife on the cheek and walking over to the delegate. "Lord Odinga, it's good to see you again so soon," he said as he approached, before the two walked away to talk.

"He's always hated being recognized," Leila confided. Off Seeker's questioning glance, she gestured at the building. "That's part of why he builds such magnificent magical structures. He wants to be known for what he's done, not who his parents might have been, or what seat he sits in for meetings."

Seeker nodded at that, understanding the impulse.

"He even built our home, has he ever told you that?" Leila asked.

"No, ma'am, he didn't." Seeker replied.

"I didn't think he would have," she said. "Well, we'll just have to invite you both over sometime, won't we?"

"I'd be happy to bring him for a visit," Sirius agreed. "If your home is half as impressive as his other work, it must be a magical home indeed."

"Oh, Sirius," Leila said with a chuckle. "You have no idea."

oOoOoOoOo

Gairsay Island was easily the most remote place Rose Potter had ever visited.

The wizarding tent was dark, since Astoria and her mother had already gone to bed, leaving the small campfire as the only source of light in the clearing. That made it easy to look up and see a vast number of stars - far more than could be seen even at hogwarts. Daphne and her father were surprised at Rose's reaction to the sight, having spent most of their lives in isolated wizarding settlements, or at Greengrass Manor.

"The muggles have so many lights in their cities that it actually washes out some of the sky." Rose explained, her eyes still fixed on the heavens. "They call it light pollution."

Daphne shook her head in disgust at the idea. "Even at night?"

A shrug. "Especially at night. They light the roadways so that their cars can travel safely. Their houses have floodlights so that thieves can't approach unseen. Their businesses leave their lights on, even when closed, so that people know where to go to spend their money in the daytime."

"It sounds so foolish, when you put it that way," Daniel Greengrass remarked.

Rose nodded. "It's funny, I grew up as muggle as you can get, but now that I see that world from the outside, I can't imagine going back." Again, she gestured to the sky. "Especially if it meant walking away from a view like this."

The three were quiet for a while after that, just enjoying the cool summer evening. Being this far north, even in July, meant that the temperature was just cool enough to be comfortable without being chilly.

After a while, Daphne broke the silence.

"What do you think you'll find tomorrow?" she asked.

Rose had discussed her reason for wanting to visit the island with the Greengrasses, both because she wanted to be honest with them and because she truly had no idea what they would find. Daniel had been impressed when Rose managed to convey the idea of the secret without breaking the fidelius that held it. " _I can't tell you what we'll find, but it's on Gairsay Island, it relates to Salazar Slytherin, and it may involve a family home."_ That had been all it took to convince Lord Greengrass to take them on this adventure.

He had not worried about what they might find, if anything. " _At worst, it's beautiful country up there,"_ He had said. And he was right.

Daphne's question earned a shrug from Rose. "I honestly don't know. It might be just an old manor house, long abandoned. But if it was important enough to hide with a fidelius, then I get the feeling there's something there to find."

"I doubt very much that a house as old and venerable as Slytherin would grant a Lordship to anyone wandering in the front door," said Daniel. "But it might be something like family magic or secret knowledge."

"Maybe," Rose agreed. "On the other hand, to even find the place you need to be able to enter the Chamber and read parselscript. That sounds like a Slytherin sort of test, don't you think?"

Daniel Greengrass nodded. "It does indeed."

"So," continued Rose, putting her feet up on a log, and looking back to the stars. "Tomorrow, we will see where our cunning takes us." She smiled to herself at the groans that came from the Greengrasses.

None of them noticed the green eyes that watched them from the shadows of the forest.

oOoOoOoOo

Marigold Potter did not regret staying in Britain. She had wanted to go with Sirius to The Hague, just as Seeker and Chaser had done, but she also needed to keep her focus on her work.

She did not disagree when Sirius commented on how single-minded that focus had become. Marigold's response was a shrug, and that she wanted to hit the ground running when the new term began.

Her meeting with Madam Pomfrey had set her on the path that would define her remaining years at Hogwarts, and later, with some luck, the rest of her life. Hogwarts did not offer apprenticeships in disciplines like Healing, but individual masters could take on apprentices of their own. Madam Pomfrey, despite being a medi-witch and not a full healer, held Masteries in Charms and Healing, and had not had an apprentice in quite some time.

There was something about Marigold's determination that struck a chord in the school's matron. Poppy Pomfrey had agreed - provisionally - to allow Marigold to help in the infirmary during the coming year. If all went well, she would formally become an apprentice in her fourth year. By the time NEWTs came around, Marigold would be well on her way to her Mastery, which would in turn put her in a position for a residency at Saint Mungo's or one of the wizarding hospitals on the continent.

The life of a healer was not for everyone, Madam Pomfrey had said. Fewer than one in five who seek out the profession succeed. But there was something in Marigold's eye that had convinced the matron to give her a chance.

Marigold, for her part, was doing everything she could to take advantage of that chance. It helped, of course, that she had other motives.

Hedwig was already a familiar sight at Flourish and Blotts, that yellow owl order form clutched in her talons. Marigold had purchased every text on healing that the shop carried, and some that they didn't, forcing them to send out special orders of their own.

To this, Marigold added muggle texts like the worn copy of _Gray's Anatom_ y she had received from the Grangers. She knew that there would be nothing in muggle medical texts about blood curses, but that did little to deter her interest.

The Greengrass blood curse had not been cured for centuries, and threatened every female of the line. If magical healers could not solve the problem, perhaps a muggle perspective would help?

She had started out looking into blood diseases such as hemophilia and anemia. Nothing that she saw even hinted at the symptoms that Spellforged had described. But neither did any magical diseases. So she kept looking.

Petunia had mentioned a great uncle who had been diagnosed with cancer many years ago, before treatments like chemotherapy and radiation were prevalent. That got Marigold thinking - how exactly would a wizard or a witch treat cancer? For that matter, how would they diagnose it? How would magic interact with tumors, if it allowed them to grow at all?

Her focus narrowed, and for the next week Marigold was a fixture at Surrey's local library, reading everything she could about cancer. It was approaching closing time that Friday when she started reading about Leukemia.

Her eyes grew wide as she read. Leukemia attacked the tissues that made blood itself. The blood, in turn, grew weaker and less able to carry out its life-sustaining functions.

But take the thought further. There is no organ, no tissue that contains a witch's magic. If any part of a person's body could be said to hold their magic, it would be the blood. That is why rituals using blood were so powerful - and so closely regulated - with sacrificial rituals all but banned in most ICW nations.

A muggle disease that attacks magical blood. What would result?

One week later, Marigold had discussed her theory with Hermione's mum, who had done more research than her husband when pursuing her degree. She did not understand much about the magical side of things, but easily followed Marigold's logic. After a late night spent at the dining room table at the Granger home, surrounded by magical and muggle texts, Doctor Granger agreed that Marigold's theory was sound enough to seek confirmation.

That led her to a meeting at Gringotts with Foecleaver and a younger-seeming goblin whose name translated as Throatripper - the Greengrass account manager. Both goblins entered the room at the stroke of 10 am.

The Potter account manager was content to exchange pleasantries, but Throatripper seemed annoyed. He had, apparently, been pulled from another obligation to attend this meeting, and he was unhappy enough to take it out on anyone he could. When Marigold explained her reasons for seeking a meeting with Lord Greengrass, Throatripper was livid.

"How _dare_ you meddle in the health of my clients!" he had snarled.

Marigold fought to keep her cool, and felt the beginnings of a panic attack welling up in her gut. She forced the feeling down, keeping her gaze steady as she regarded the goblin. "The Greengrasses are friends of my parents, sir," she said evenly. "Even if I am not close with their daughters, I would be remiss if I did not offer aid to them in this matter."

Spellforged's coaching carried the day, and after a few minutes of argument, Throatripper settled down. He was still unhappy, but agreed to arrange the meeting.

"That's all I ask, Accounts Manager Throatripper," Marigold replied, politely.

"We may want one of our healers to review your notes, Heiress Potter," said Foecleaver.

She nodded at that - having experienced healers reviewing her work would harm nothing, especially when they were sworn to protect the secrecy of their clients. "Of course."

 _I just hope that Lord Greengrass is receptive,_ she thought.

oOoOoOoOo

Following the events of the previous day, and the marathon of ceremony that had marked the opening of the ICW Headquarters, Joseph Hillyer decided to seek out his favorite room in the new building. James and Sirius, with Chaser in tow, would be meeting him after lunch for their grand tour of the facility, and he did not want to disappoint.

The space he chose for his little escape was already popular among the delegates, as he had intended it to be. All who had visited had found that the room was highly intuitive, providing for needs they had not even known they had.

For instance, when Hillyer found a quiet spot, a bamboo mat had appeared before him, sitting on a flat spot atop a grassy knoll. Cool breeze seemed to direct his steps to the spot, and when he sat down, he found that he could see the entire room without trouble.

Ariana Dumbledore found him there after some time. Hillyer was sitting calmly on the mat, his legs folded beneath him and his eyes closed as if in meditation. Smiling, she approached her fellow Brit.

To her surprise, she did not need to conjure a seat of her own - for one appeared a short distance away from her destination. It was a comfortable wing-backed chair, almost exactly like the ones in her office at the Ministry.

Hillyer heard her sigh of relief as she sat down, and opened his eyes. There, dressed in solid blue robes, was the Headmistress of Hogwarts and the Chief Witch of the Wizengamot.

He nodded to her, a polite smile on his face. "Madam Supreme Mugwump, greetings."

Ariana smiled back at him - and Joseph saw that it was one of her genuine smiles, the sort that seemed to say that she was smiling at some private joke. Perhaps it was that she had been called that title all during the previous day's events, but rarely outside the ICW's halls. That she was not referred to as 'Headmistress' must be jarring.

"This room is a triumph, Joseph, you have much to be proud of," she said, gesturing at the space around them.

Hillyer followed her gesture, taking in the space around him - which, to all appearances, was a grassy field. The sky was blue and almost cloudless, just as it was outside. In the distance, he could see several other delegations enjoying the quiet of the space, some surrounded by trees or other accommodations, and others enjoying a simple open area like the one he had found.

"I can't take all the credit, Ariana," Hillyer replied. "After all, I stole part of the design from Hogwarts."

She raised an eyebrow at that, though her expression remained pleasant. "Did you, now?"

"Quite," he answered. "There's a room on the seventh floor that adapts to the needs of the user. I took that idea and built intent-based wards into the auxiliary caucus chamber." He waved his hand at the room. "This is the result."

Dumbledore looked around, her eyes wide. "Which occupant does the room cater to, then? There must be fifty of us here."

Hillyer chuckled at that. "It was Leila's idea, actually. I mean, it is a caucus chamber, after all. A room intended for different groups to come to a consensus, yes?" Off Dumbledore's nod, he continued. "The room takes the measure of each witch and wizard as they enter, and averages their needs."

He pointed toward a small grove of Cherry trees, its blossoms making for a striking contrast to the green that dominated the rest of the room. "The Japanese delegation is there, holding a small ceremony to bless the space and invoke their spirits to guide deliberations. So, since there are so many from that part of the world, the room created a small piece of home for their use."

"I see," said the Headmistress. "What a magnificent space this is." She continued to look at the various groups taking advantage of the room. Hillyer saw the understanding grow on her face - for now that she knew the trick, she could see how each group's part of the room had subtle differences in design, from the trees to the landscape, and everything in between.

Hillyer had to keep himself from laughing when the Headmistress rose to leave. Before she walked off, she absently asked the question that had been on her mind since his explanation.

"Seventh floor, you say?" she asked, as innocently as she could.

"Look for a troll teaching ballet. The rest of the secret is yours to discover." Hillyer said, amused.

"As it should be," Dumbledore replied. Then she looked down at the still seated architect. "How did you learn of it, if you don't mind me asking."

Hillyer grinned back at her. "Interestingly enough, it was mentioned in my parents' journals. Just enough to point the way, of course - seems that is something of a tradition."

"So it would seem," Ariana agreed. With that, they exchanged pleasantries, and the Headmistress made her way down the hill, toward the Japanese delegation.

"You seem much more relaxed than I expected," came a voice from behind Hillyer.

He grinned, recognizing the voice of his wife. "Why do you think I insisted on this particular room in the final design?" He looked up and saw her standing at the edge of the mat. "I knew I'd need it." He patted the bamboo mat next to him. "Join me?"

Leila smiled at her husband. "Of course." She seated herself on his left, arranging her formal robes around her. Before he could object, she had taken his left hand in hers.

"Honey," he began, but she silenced him with a squeeze of her hand. The runes etched into his wrist pulsed slightly, sending the sensation to the nerves in his arm. No matter how many times she did this, Hillyer never got over how close it felt to the real thing.

He had had a hard time explaining why he wanted steel for his prosthetic, rather than the composite materials he was offered. But runes would not work when placed onto plastics and synthetics. Once Leila had lovingly etched a tiny runic array into the steel of his new hand, it had felt just like the old one.

Of course, his missing hand - and the constant reminder of its replacement - had not been far from his mind this week. Leila knew this better than anyone, and knew the bend of his thoughts at that moment. Her soft voice drew him out of his musings.

"I'll never cease being amazed at how strong you have to be to come to these events," she said quietly. "Your first project, your first grand opening, and death eaters attack. You lose your hand, and almost lose your life. Anyone would have understood if you chose not to attend a grand opening like this after that." She looked him in the eyes, and smiled that smile. "And yet here you are."

He gave her hand a squeeze in return. "Here I am, and here I remain." With that quiet pronouncement, he leaned over and gave her a kiss.

After that, the Hillyers were able to enjoy their peaceful corner of the room, completely undisturbed. That the room had placed them under notice-me-nots was, unsurprisingly, not noticed at all.

oOoOoOoOo

When he first became aware of the link, Harry Spellforged learned that events in each of the five worlds seemed to be coterminous.

He had then had to explain to his newfound siblings just what the hell coterminous meant.

In broad terms, each of the five were living their lives at the same speed, and doing so at the same time. When it was midnight in Marigold's world, it was also midnight in Seeker's, and so on. July 31st for Spellforged was also July 31st for Chaser, and for both of them the date fell on a Saturday this year. Try as he might, Spellforged had found no meaningful differences in how time passed between the five worlds.

As with most things, it was the differences in events that highlighted the similarities.

In Seeker's world, for example, as Joseph and Leila Hillyer were enjoying a quiet moment in the Netherlands, two goblins named Throatripper and Knifeclaw were performing one of their tasks as senior account managers at Gringotts - artifact destruction. Once dark artifacts were studied and catalogued, the item was either cleansed of its dark magic or destroyed.

Throatripper, the Greengrass account manager, performed his duties without comment. Knifeclaw, the Malfoy account manager, followed suit, but only grudgingly.

At 10 am that morning, the artifact scheduled for destruction was an old muggle diary. The cover was embossed with "T M Riddle", but the artifact was otherwise unremarkable. At the direction of Ragnok, several curse breakers had studied the diary, though their findings were privileged.

Throatripper didn't care. He confirmed the disposition of the artifact - destruction - and handed it off to Knifeclaw, who placed it in a chamber carved into the stone wall. Closing a heavy steel door, Knifeclaw triggered a runic array, and a gout of goblin fire descended on the diary. The muggle book was quickly consumed by flame.

Between stone and steel, no one ever heard the scream from within the blast chamber as the horcrux was annihilated.

In Chaser's world, the destruction proceeded in much the same way, down to the grumbling of Knifeclaw and the utter lack of interest in his colleague's discontent on the part of Throatripper. Again, the diary was incinerated, and again no one noticed the destruction of the horcrux.

Likewise, in Rose's world. Thanks to her efforts, the diary had already been neutralized, but Ragnok felt it best to proceed as if some risk remained. Here, too, the diary was incinerated.

In Spellforged's world, Knifeclaw was more insufferable than even Throatripper could tolerate. Thanks to his son's failed attack on Harry Spellforged, Knifeclaw's entire clan was on probation. Ragnok could not be seen to be anything other than impartial, especially where his son was involved, and so Knifeclaw had gotten off with only a token punishment.

Throatripper had thought the penalty too light, and decided to spend the first hour of their shared duties laying into his colleague. By the time Throatripper had begun to catalogue the failings of his son, Knifeclaw had had enough.

 **/If you're so disgusted with my presence, Throatripper, then why don't you go off and do whatever it is you do in your off hours, and leave me alone!/** he snarled at the older goblin.

Throatripper stared right back, shocked at the display. Then he straightened up and shrugged. **/Fine. But if I find that one item didn't get handled properly, it will be your purse that lightens./**

Knifeclaw rolled his eyes and replied with a wave of his hand.

Throatripper took it for the dismissal it was, and left Knifeclaw on his own. In this, he was probably wise, for had he remained he probably would've ended up stabbing Knifeclaw in the throat, and he knew it.

The next item for destruction was was an old muggle diary. The cover was embossed with "T M Riddle", but the artifact was otherwise unremarkable. At the direction of Ragnok, several curse breakers had studied the diary, though their findings were privileged.

Knifeclaw picked it up, considering the innocuous looking object. What possible fuss could Ragnok have made over such a simple item? The fool couldn't tell a goblin from a wand waver, as his adoption of an enemy of the Nation showed. How could he think that a muggle book was any danger whatsoever?

Idly, Knifeclaw thumbed through the book, finding it empty. His brow furrowed at that - for what possible threat could an empty book pose to the Nation? He did not notice the quill in his hand until it was already scratching across the first page of the diary.

 **/What are you?/**

The angular goblin shorthand disappeared, only to be replaced with English.

 _I'm sorry, I don't understand that. My name is Tom. What is your name?_

* * *

 ** _A/N_ : Many apologies for the long hiatus. Life just got busy for a while there, and remains so. It did not help that this chapter fought me a bit, before I decided to trim it down and focus on the parallels inherent in the parallel structure we've built to this point. In other words, this story is much easier to write when I lean into the format, rather than treating it as five stories. ****And that's the reality - this story is one tale with five leads, as opposed to five stories that interweave here and there. We know some of where they are headed - a certain meeting at a certain manor - but they are still in the early days. We have a long way to go, but quite a few fun moments along the way.**

 **As much as I enjoy writing Who Dares Wins, my other current longfic, the truth is that this story is my passion project. It's what dragged me kicking and screaming into the HP fandom, and it's big enough that there's room for damn near any idea that comes along. Someone recently commented on Reddit that this story was designed to answer almost any prompt request you might come up with. While I can't say that was a goal when I first broke out the story, it is a fun aspect of its design - one I'm proud of.**

 **We're inching toward the end of summer, and the start of a very different year three - both as compared to canon, and as compared between each of our worlds. Stay tuned.**

 **To all who have supported this story, enjoyed it, read it over and over, and written reviews and comments analyzing it - thank you, truly. You all keep me writing. Best wishes for 2020 and beyond.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	54. The Sword and the Stone

Three days after their arrival on Gairsay Island, Rose Potter and the Greengrasses found the remains of Slytherin's home.

Astoria had jokingly suggested that they would find some sort of grand manor house, filled with portraits and books and notes, hidden knowledge lost to time, and treasures unimagined. Her mother noted that the manor houses popular today were not common in the 11th Century, and that anything Slytherin himself built would probably be much closer to a castle. Astoria remained unconvinced.

For her part, Daphne wasn't sure what they would find. Surely, there would be something worth protecting behind a fidelius charm, but what that might be was anyone's guess. Rose had managed to get her idea across when she suggested the trip, telling them that "Salazar Slytherin may have settled on Gairsay Island at one point." She couldn't come out and tell them the secret, of course, but comparing the situation to the difference between Greengrass Manor and the home of the Greengrass family did the job.

In some ways, it was a meaningless distinction - but for Rose Potter, who had barely known a home of her own, it meant everything. When the group walked up the grassy hill, toward the small structure they had found, it was only Rose who understood the significance of the find. To the others, this was a house of some sort. To Slytherin, it had been _home_.

At the top of the hill, the group found a small stone cabin, sitting inside a modest yard and surrounded by an iron fence. The gate that blocked the footpath had the Slytherin crest worked into the metal, though there was a narrow gap within the coiled body of the snake at the base of the crest.

Daniel Greengrass examined the crest closely, and then shrugged. "Normally, you would press a family ring to the crest, and the gate would open."

"We don't have a Slytherin family ring, though, Dad," said Astoria.

"No, we don't…" said Rose, her voice trailing off. Then she took another look at the crest, and the gap worked into the metal. "It couldn't be that simple, could it?" she asked herself.

"What couldn't?" asked Daniel.

Instead of answering, Rose stepped away from the gate and looked up. "Dobby?"

With a pop, Dobby appeared nearby, holding a long bundle wrapped in green cloth. Reaching down, Rose carefully unwrapped the bundle and drew out the Blade of Slytherin. The scimitar was held in a leather scabbard that Lord Hillyer had provided, as the one he had conjured in the Chamber would not have lasted forever.

"Thank you Dobby," Rose said, inclining her head to the elf. Dobby gave her a small bow, and then disappeared.

Daphne could not take her eyes off of the legendary sword, despite having seen it before. "I wondered why you didn't bring it with you, Rose."

Rose slowly pulled the steel blade from its scabbard, once again admiring the blade in her hand - and what it meant. "I wasn't sure what we'd find, and some might take offence to visitors armed with swords."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Even _that_ sword?"

That got a shrug from Rose. "Maybe? It's not like I've done this before."

"It's not like _anyone_ has done this before, dear," remarked Selena.

"There's that as well," agreed Rose. With both hands on the blade, Rose approached the gate. Gently, she brought the curved point of the scimitar up to the crest. Now that she had an opportunity to compare the two, she saw that the gap in the crest was the exact same size as the opening of the scabbard. Taking that as a good sign, Rose carefully slid the blade through the crest.

When the gate began to move, Rose withdrew the blade and returned it to its sheath. The grinding of metal was the only sound, as the gate opened to admit them. Daphne carefully extended a hand, and was surprised when she encountered no magic.

"It's as if there are no wards," she remarked. "Nothing."

"There has to be something," replied Daniel. The elder Greengrass had his wand out, casting detection spells. He frowned as the results came to him. "You're right, there's nothing. No wizards, no muggles, no wards. Nothing at all."

Selena Greengrass was not convinced. "There must be something here, some sort of ward scheme. Would Slytherin have left a house unprotected?"

Astoria gestured at the cabin before them. "There's not much to protect, mum."

Slinging the blade onto her back, Rose eyed the cabin suspiciously. "Whatever is here, someone wanted it found. Or they never would have left the secret where someone could see it."

"That doesn't mean there isn't danger, Rose," said Daniel.

Rose looked up at Daphne's father. "True." She turned her eyes back to the cabin. "But I do know this. Whatever trap exists, it's a Slytherin one."

"I know," Daniel replied. "Quite cunning, to invite your victims in, isn't it?"

"Maybe, but what would there be to gain?" Rose asked. "What would we have that interests the great Salazar Slytherin?"

"That sword, perhaps?" Daphne speculated. "It was Slytherin's, after all."

Rose reached up and tapped the handle over her shoulder. "If Salazar Slytherin is sitting in that… house, waiting for someone to bring his sword back, then he's welcome to it." She gestured at the gate. "Come to think of it, he could have just kept it when I put it in the gate. No, I don't think it's that."

Daniel Greengrass found himself nodding. "I still don't like it."

"I know," Rose answered. "But you know how Slytherins are with secrets, after all. Seems we come by it honestly."

With that, she began walking toward the cabin, the Greengrasses following close behind.

oOoOoOoOo

The cabin was empty.

Bare stone walls, bare wooden floors, and a hole in the roof near one corner of the room, as if the structure had been unfinished. On the far wall, there was a single wooden door.

Rose stepped to the middle of the room, looking around for any hint of disillusionment charms or other hidden items, but there was no sign of anything at all.

"Not what I expected," said Rose quietly, as she regarded the bare room.

"That's the idea, Miss Potter," said a new voice.

Rose whirled around to face the closed door, and saw a white-haired man pass through. He wore white robes with green trim, and had a long white beard to match his unkempt hair. His eyes were a brilliant green, and his expression was a mixture of kindness and curiosity.

It took only a moment to realize that the newcomer was a ghost, and likely harmless as a result. That thought did little to put Rose at ease, however.

"Who are you?" she asked.

The man gave her an exaggerated bow. "I am all that remains of Salazar Slytherin's legacy."

Rose shook her head, annoyed at the non-answer. "That may be what you are, but it tells me nothing about _who_ you are."

The ghost's eyes grew wide at that, and a look of amusement crossed his face. "Well spoken, Miss Potter." He placed a hand on his heart as he spoke. "My name is Salazar Slytherin. I was named after my grandfather, who was the founder of our clan, and one of the founders of Hogwarts."

Rose nodded in appreciation. "I see." She turned to introduce the Greengrasses, only to find that they were not in the cabin.

Slytherin's face grew serious. "Your companions are outside, Miss Potter. For this discussion, it really should be kept in the family."

"They are the nearest to family that I have in this world, sir." If Slytherin had not been a ghost, he would have sworn that the temperature in the room dropped several degrees, such was the ice in her tone.

"Perhaps," the ghost replied, looking at her with an appraising eye.

"Perhaps nothing." Rose answered. She had to fight the impulse to draw her wand. How _dare_ a ghost disparage the Greengrasses like that?

Slytherin simply nodded at her words. "Let us say that you did not find the entire secret in my grandfather's chamber, Miss Potter. Tell me," He gestured at the cabin. "What do you see here?"

Rose kept her eyes on the ghost. "The cabin appears empty."

A slight frown crossed the ghost's features - that had not been the answer he expected. "You stand in the center of Slytherin's Legacy. Knowing what you know of our honorable house, what does that tell you?"

She glanced around, considering that. "I would say that, apart from you, this cabin contains only what I brought to it."

Slytherin grinned. "Just so, Miss Potter."

"And like our House," Rose continued, "It stands in the shadow of ghosts."

The frown returned. "Go on," prompted the ghost.

Rose took a moment to collect her thoughts. "Slytherin is the house for those who expect the world to be handed to them due to their blood, their name, their wealth. They think that your grandfather fought against the muggleborn, even going so far as to leave a basilisk in the school to slaughter them." She shook her head as she recalled the previous halloween. "Slytherin house is filled with children who have been taught that they can threaten their fellow students with death, and get away with it, just because they are pure of blood."

"My grandfather would _never_ have tolerated any such behavior," spat the ghost, visibly angered by her account.

"That, I can believe," agreed Rose. "No one who hates muggleborn would spend years of his life teaching them western magic."

Slytherin raised an eyebrow at that. "My grandfather's time in Shustar is not well known."

"No, but it should be," said Rose. "The shadow of Salazar Slytherin looms large over the house that bears his name, but it's just a ghost - nothing like his true legacy."

"So," the ghost replied, quietly. "What would my grandfather's true legacy be?"

Rose drew the blade from its scabbard, holding it up to the light. "Let their cunning guide their ambition, lest the cost grow too dear." The ghost continued to gaze at her, as if inviting her to continue, and so she did. "Consider Hogwarts. Hufflepuff is the house of loyalty. Gryffindor, the house of bravery. Ravenclaw, the house of wisdom. But in Slytherin, we have both cunning and ambition. And we need both, because each one governs the other."

"Does it, though?" asked the ghost, intrigued.

"I think that was the idea," Rose said. "What good is cunning without a goal, without something to gain or protect or defend? You have to have the drive to work _for_ something in order to even begin to conceive of a plan to accomplish your goal."

The ghost nodded. "What of ambition, then? The drive for power? Where does that fit into your philosophy, Miss Potter?"

"Pure ambition is self defeating," she replied. Then a conversation with Seeker came to mind, and she smiled. "Voldemort once told me that good and evil were just words, and that all that mattered was power. 'There is only power,' he said, 'and those too weak to seek it.'"

Slytherin frowned at that, but said nothing.

"It was the coward's path," Rose continued, recalling the phrase Marigold had used against her version of the diary. "The man was so afraid that he could do nothing but grasp for all the power he could. But that sort of ambition, that greed, it consumes you. No matter how much power you end up with, it's never enough."

"Again, very well stated, Miss Potter," said the ghost. It was clear that he had not expected the answers he was getting, and was honestly impressed. "Lessons learned in the streets of Little Whinging, I suspect?"

Rose's eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

"Let me tell you what I see, Miss Potter, when I look at you." The ghost gestured at Rose, who fought the impulse to step away. "I see a young witch who knew nothing about the House of Slytherin when she was sorted into it, and yet flourishes in the silver and green. A witch who wields her words almost as well as she wielded that sword, when the time for words was past." The ghost's eyes softened, a sad expression on his face as he continued. "A witch who knew, long ago, that the only safety to be had was what she could make for herself."

Rose's thoughts went to the knife in her boot, and to the day she had begun carrying it. The day she gave Piers Polkiss a black eye after he grabbed her, and then later broke the knee of his brother Niall when he threatened her for beating up his brother. The day Vernon - the old Vernon - had shown her exactly what he thought of her defending herself.

Spellforged had been surprised at her anger the previous February, when she had been ambushed by Ginny and the Diary's compulsions. Rose had never explained why she took it as such a personal failure.

"Power," the ghost continued, "is meaningless without purpose." Again his eyes met Rose's. "And there is no higher purpose than defending one's family."

Rose smiled sadly at that, ignoring the echo of her own words to Draco in the hospital wing, after the attack on Astoria. "As you said, I have no true family. It's just me."

"So you say," replied the ghost. Then he gestured at the blade in her hand. "And yet, here you are."

oOoOoOoOo

Rose tilted her head at the ghost of Slytherin's grandson. "Here I am," she repeated, not sure where he was going. The probing questions had made sense to her, for this ghost surely cared about the legacy of his house. How had he known about her, though? Her history was not something she ever talked about, even with the link - so where did this ghost learn of it?

"You came here for a reason, Rose Potter," intoned the ghost. He gestured at the empty stone cabin, as if to indicate the riches that were not there. "What did you seek when you travelled to this lonely island?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she found herself unsure how to answer.

Slytherin did not give her a chance to collect her thoughts. "You wonder why you weren't a lion."

Rose stilled, almost glaring at the ghost. If the knowledge of her past had shocked her, the suggestion that this ghost knew about _that_ chilled her to the core.

"You wonder what made you different, don't you?" Slytherin continued. "Why do you have to be singled out as a snake, when you had enough troubles as the girl-who-lived?" He looked at her intently, and she felt as if he was peering directly into her soul. "You wonder why you have to go it alone."

She shook her head, anger starting to creep into her voice. "I'm never alone. But you seem to know that."

"I suspected," answered Slytherin, with a nod. Off her look of horror, Slytherin's ghost raised a hand placatingly. "Your secrets are your own, of course. It will stay within the family."

 _This again?_ "I have no family," she repeated.

"So you said," he agreed. "Until today."

Rose sighed in exasperation. "Is it a trait of our house to never speak plainly about anything? Say what you mean!"

The frustration in her voice was plain, but all it did was cause the ghost to chuckle. "As you wish, young one. You found my grandfather's chamber, you learned his secret, and Hogwarts herself gifted you with the Blade of Slytherin. Then you come here seeking no wealth, no power, only knowledge and answers. And when I question you, you give a better explanation of what it means to be Slytherin than even my grandfather could have given."

His voice was kind as he spoke, and Rose felt the tension draining away - anxiety she had not even known she had lifted from her like a weight.

"Rose Potter," he continued, "You have a family, if you wish it." He smiled at her. "My own."

oOoOoOoOo

The offer shocked her. But she was wary - she knew how awful Seeker's year had been, with accusations of being the Heir of Slytherin keeping tensions high, even after the basilisk had been exposed and dealt with. Now, to be offered a place in that House, officially? She worried that something similar would happen, even as she knew that her place in the den of snakes would make things easier.

Before she could really consider the proposition, she found herself asking the question foremost on her mind. "Why me?"

Slytherin's ghost seemed to straighten at that, as if he had expected the question.

"Simply put, Miss Potter," he said, "You are the keystone."

She blinked at him. "I'm the what?"

The ghost waved his hand, and seven wedges of stone appeared. As the ghost gestured, the stones arranged themselves into two stacks of three stones each. Rose saw that they were parts of an archway.

"Always, there are groups of witches and wizards, in every era. They work for good, they work for evil, they work to simply live their lives as they wish. But occasionally, there is one among them who changes everything." As he spoke, the two stacks of stone shimmered, and the magic that held them disappeared. Immediately, the stacks collapsed in on each other, before falling to the floor. "Everything rests on that one witch, and her choices can change the fate of the world."

Rose considered the seventh stone, larger than the others. She saw where this was going, and found herself losing patience for the show. "That one can't do anything alone, though."

"No," agreed the ghost. Again the stones arranged themselves, with the seventh slotting itself between the two stacks of stone. Once released, the makeshift structure stood solidly. "The wizarding world will rely on you, Rose Potter. Far too much, perhaps, but it is what it is. Both sides will look to you, and to your wisdom. In the end," The ghost gestured at the arch. "You will have to be the keystone that holds everything together."

She shook her head and sighed. "No pressure, then," she muttered.

The ghost, for the first time, laughed. "For one without the proper cunning, it would be an insurmountable task. But then, we're talking about you, Miss Potter." He kept smiling as he watched for her reaction. "I can think of no one better to one day serve as the Regent Slytherin."

"Oh, hell," she spat, not realizing that she spoke out loud.

The ghost laughed again. "That was my reaction, when my grandfather named me his regent."

Rose eyed the ghost curiously. "There's a story there, I think."

A nod. "One for another day. I will say just that my grandfather grew so disgusted with the wizards of his day that he withdrew from the world, choosing to simply retire. Some took exception to that, and sought him out. He rebuffed them. And when they made noises about forcing him to do as they wished, he named me Regent of his house and disappeared."

"He went home," Rose whispered. "Salazar Slytherin's home is on Gairsay Island."

"Yes," the ghost agreed. "A secret only a true Slytherin could find." He gestured at the blade in her hand. "I had no children, and nor did my sister. We were the only grandchildren. So Slytherin's blood died with us. But not the House, never the House."

"Merlin," she gasped. "You weren't kidding. Slytherin's Legacy, it really is only what I brought to it."

Another nod. "Yes. If anyone is to return Slytherin to its proper place, it would be you."

Rose stood there, looking at the ghost for a moment, and Slytherin was content to allow her the time to absorb the news he had given her. It was a big ask, he knew that. But if it had not been vital, he never would have made the offer.

Too much rested on this witch.

As if she read his mind, Rose sighed. "I'd like time to think about it."

"Of course," the ghost agreed. "I will be here when you wish to speak." He indicated the door through which she had entered. "For now, I believe you have several very worried friends to reassure."

Nodding, Rose sheathed the sword. Turning to the entrance, she paused. "Thank you, Regent Slytherin, for your candor."

The ghost smiled. "No, Rose, thank _you._ "

With that, Rose walked out of the cabin.

oOoOoOoOo

Slytherin's ghost watched the young witch leave. Then he spoke once more.

"You can come out now."

A second ghost materialized in the corner of the empty cabin. He wore the fashion of a 17th century nobleman - far different from the simple robe of his host. The cutlass at his waist completed the look of a once dashing fighter, if you ignored the blood that still dripped from its ethereal steel.

"Masterfully done, Sal," said the second ghost.

"Did you expect anything less, old friend?" replied Slytherin. He inclined his head toward the door that Rose Potter had taken to leave. "She was much like your description. If anything, you understated your case."

The Bloody Baron nodded, accepting the compliment. "It has to be her, Salazar."

"Oh, aye, that it does. I've got no question about that now."

"She has to be the Blade," the Baron continued. "There can be no other. It fits too neatly."

"Aye," Slytherin agreed. "Of all of them, she was the most obvious. But I have no idea where to find the others."

The Baron nodded. "Find them we must. And if we can't, she will have to."

"Yes," whispered Slytherin. "I fear for the world if she fails."

"They will visit death upon ye sevenfold," the Baron said solemnly, speaking the words of the prophecy. "She won't fail us. She can't."

Slytherin nodded absently, saying nothing, his eyes still on the last great hope for the House of Slytherin - and, perhaps, the wizarding world.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **A shorter chapter to kick things loose, and get us moving toward Year Three. I'll spare you the apologies for the long absence if you all just pretend that it's business as usual 'round here.**

 **Yes, the Bloody Baron listens in on his snakes - and noticed when Rose dropped hints about more than she would have liked. Some of their knowledge is speculation, some is pure guesswork, but the result is that they know Rose quite well, which of course unnerved her.**

 **This easily could have been 10 thousand words about the life and times of Slytherin the elder, but I like the perspective of outsiders on his legacy - like the historical accounts from previous chapters, to the perspective of a grandson. We'll learn more about the man himself as we go - as will Rose.**

 **Meanwhile, for a girl who wanted nothing to do with being the High Priestess of All Things Slytherin, being offered the Regency - and not knowing what comes with it - is a bit of a shock. But by nightfall, you can be assured that Rose is already thinking through all of the angles - and with Daphne advising her, she could really do little but accept. How that impacts events, we'll see.**

 **Stay safe out there, kids. A nursing home near me is on complete lockdown, after COVID-19 cases cropped up suddenly. It only takes one sneeze, y'all.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


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